The First Guardian
by Saphira1974
Summary: Terentia Larente is not an ordinary demigod. She's a guardian, first of them all, chosen by Nemesis herself. When Lord Voldemort rises once again, it's the guardians' job to help stop the Dark Lord.
1. Chapter 1

**A/U: This is my first story, so I'm asking you nicely not to hate. If you really don't like my story, just go somewhere secluded and scream about how you hate the story and all that to get it out of your system. I do like nice previews, though.**

**Disclaimer:I do not own Percy Jackson, Harry Potter, or the other characters and stuff I haven't created.**

Look, I never asked for all this. In fact, if someone wants to trade places with me, I would gladly do so.

My name is Terentia Larente and I'm a guardian.

I mean, literally. My name is actually greek and basically means just that: guardian.

And I'm going to be telling you my story.

* * *

You've all probably heard of Nemesis, the goddess of balance and revenge. I'm betting that most of you don't like her that much. If you think that she's... well, evil, then you're really stupid. Bad people aren't _evil_. Personally, I don't think anybody is truly evil. Just that the bad overpowers the good in the person. See? It's all about balance. If you're too _good_, that makes trouble too. Imagine if you help everybody, even the ones that are using you. See, I once read a book (Christopher Paolini, he's awesome) where a guy was friends with some other _evil_ dude to the point of obsession, but the evil dude uses the other guy, who's so blinded by being _nice_ and _good_ that he helped with dipping millions of people into so much sorrow and heartbreak. Of course, if he _balanced _the good and bad inside him, all this would never had happened.

If you still don't believe me, then I ask you: Do you think Hitler is evil? And if I told you that in his free time, he loved to bake? And he was an awesome artist? And that he was a wicked whistler?

Just imagine this: Hitler whistling while baking a cake for his grandma's birthday.

I know. Weird.

That's where we come in. Guardians are demigods that are granted a choice by Nemesis: Continue training at camp Half-Blood and do nothing for the world, or join Nemesis and the other guardians to help with major problems that could destroy everything. For example, the roman and greek demigods would still be fighting if it wasn't a couple of charmspeakers to convince some of the half-bloods that the other side wasn't _so_ bad.

I'm the daughter of Nemesis. That's why I was granted this choice, and from the rant above, I'm guessing you figured out why I accepted. And the fact we're granted immortality.

Nope. I'm not joking.

Unless someone kills us or we die in battle or something, we stay young forever. Depending on where we're working, we can change our appearance, from changing or age to turning into an animal. Of course, with the permission of Nemesis first. Because the nights are lonely when you have this sort of job, Nemesis allows us to have an animal companion. I chose a direwolf. Direwolves are animals that look like wolves, but are much bigger and intelligent. They also have magical qualities, most which are still unknown. My direwolf's name is Kajika and he's the size of a bear, but still moves silently. That's what his name means. Silent. He who is soundless. And really, I've never heard him make any sound other than growl or howl, though most of the time he's silent. It's just his nature.

In addition to that, we also get better sight, smell and hearing, along with more strength than humanly (or should I say demigodly) possible. That way we could do our jobs better and easier.

Enough explaining. Lets get to the point here. Nemesis asked us all to gather in our training camp, which is in Florida. If she's asking us to all gather in the same place, then things must be serious.

At the moment, I was in Bulgaria. Kajika was in the woods of mountain Rila hunting when I received an Iris message from Nemesis. Her image appeared in thin air.

"Terentia, we need all the guardians gathered at camp immediately. Contact them and send them this message. I have something important to tell you all."

She was beautiful and scary at the same time. For some mortals, she looks like the person the hated and wanted to take revenge on most. For her guardians, she tries to be as honest as possible and shows the closest image to her true form without incinerating us. Her hair was blacker than the darkest night, her form was curvy and slightly muscular, with a graceful neck that holds her head high and proud. Her eyes, however, were the queerest sight. They seemed... restless, like they couldn't decide on which color they would be. First green, then blue, black, brown, hazel, gold and silver. If you looked at them too long, you get hypnotized. It showed her restless spirit, her need for balance.

"I'll get right to it."

She nodded and waved her hand through the image. She disappeared.

Since Iris and Nemesis are friends... or as close to friends goddesses can be, guardians can send Iris messages without payment. I contacted a couple of guardians and told them to spread the word. Then, I called Kajika.

One of the direwolf's talents was shadow-travel. He came to me almost right away, annoyed that he couldn't finish eating the bear he caught. To calm him, I scratched him under his chin, where he loved being petted. He growled at me for that, but eased up a little. I smiled and got on his back.

He started running towards a wall casting a shadow to the abandoned alley we were in. Instead of crashing into it, we dissolved into the shadows right before we touched the wall.

The experience was chilling. It felt as if my face was peeling off, and at the same time, as if someone was pouring ice-cold water down my spine. Before, it freaked me out every time, but now I'm used to it. The whole thing lasted about thirty seconds, after which we emerged right in front of another guardian, Erick. He let out a girly shriek, from which I cracked up.

"It's not that funny.", he mumbled, glaring at me with his hazel eyes.

Erick was a son of Athena, and he was awesome. He had dark locks and a relatively pale complexion. He was sort of second in command, after me. I'm the leader because I'm the first guardian ever. I was 16 when the guardians were created. This may come as a shock, but they were made in 1946, a year after World War 2. So I'm eighty-four years old. This is when I'm grateful for the immortality thing.

Don't worry, though. I'm constantly surrounded by young, crazy and stupid people, which sort of influences my behaviour. I'm not going to act like and old withered hag.

Anyway, back to the story.

"You're right." I agreed, still chuckling slightly. "It's not funny, it's hilarious."

"Very _witty_, Larente." He said. His expression, though, gave him out. His cheeks were still pink, and he was glaring at his shoes. "Come on, we'll be late if we don't hurry."

And hurry we did. Nemesis get annoyed when someone's late, and that is _not_ a pretty picture. Most of the time, it ends with a broken nose or a bruised back. And it's not Nemesis' nose that ends up bloodied.

I know how that sounds, but that just makes us more disciplined. Plus, we hadn't had a broken nose since last month. Now that should go in the Guinness records.

As we walked through camp, I couldn't help but think how lucky I am. Our camp looks like Camp Half-Blood, except there's a lot more training ground. Nemesis is pretty strict when it comes to training. We all have to practice 7 hours a day, with three hours in the morning and four hours in the afternoon. That is, unless you've been injured or on an assignment.

We use the arena for meetings, so when we got there, it was no surprise that there were people practicing.

"Listen up, people! Nemesis called us here for a meeting, so if you could put your weapons away and gather around, it would be really helpful." Most of the demigods groaned, knowing they'll have to finish practice after the meeting. This place may be magical, but it does _not_ protect us from mosquitoes when it gets dark. Combine sweaty, sticky and warm bodies with mosquitoes in Florida, and you'll get a torture worthy of the fields of Punishment.

As we all gathered around, more and more people came pouring in from the arena's exit. When everyone were finally here, I looked around and took the whole image in.

We were about three hundred half-bloods in total. I know, that's more than Camp Half-Blood, But most of the demigods who are offered this choice accept. We wipe all memories of them from other people who knew them, including Chiron. Dionysus and the other gods know about this, and mostly have no objections.

A glimmer to my right interrupted my musings. Nemesis had arrived.

Although I was her daughter, I looked nothing like her. Like I said above, she has black hair, whist mine is a silvery white and almost long enough to touch my knees. My eyes are a weird dark blue with silver specks here and there. My cheekbones are high, though I'm not very tall. I have a fit, muscular body, but not too muscular. Most of my power comes from my gift from Nemesis. I stood out in stark contrast from the others, who are mostly dark haired.

"I have gathered you here to discuss a new danger to the world." Nemesis began. "I cannot throw light upon it all myself, partly because I do not know the whole story. That is why I have invited lady Hecate to explain everything to you.".

Just then, Hecate appeared on my left.

She was a young woman in a dark, sleeveless gown. Her gown seemed to ripple as if the cloth was ink spilling off, and her golden hair was set in an Ancient Greek style high-set ponytail. She was carrying two old-fashioned reed torches that illuminated her beautiful, but deathly pale face.

"Like Nemesis said, I am the one who knows this story the best, because I created it. A log time ago, long after the gods moved from Greece, very little people, if at all, believed in the greek gods. A fairly small group of mortals still worshiped us, and as a gift to them to show them our gratitude, I granted them magical powers.".

"Just like that?" I asked. "Just because the worship you, you give them your magic?". I was a little offended. We guardians work day and night, and still some of them aren't granted powers.

"You must understand that by then, most people were Catholic. The looked down on them and often tried to kill them. They lived as nomads, because wherever they stay, they are attacked by others. They led a hard life, but still they kept on believing in us. I only wanted to show them some gratitude."

"But what does 'the new danger to the world' have to do with something that happened hundreds of years ago?" I inquired.

"Because they still exist."

I gaped at her. "You mean they're immortal?"

To my enormous relieve, she laughed. "No, no. I only meant that this gift spreads in generations of people. There are three types of these mortals who call themselves witches and wizards. Purebloods, who are wizards born in a family with only 'magical blood'." she snorted. "I assure you, there's nothing magical about it. That's what they believe. Anyway, there are also half-bloods, who are a mix of 'magical blood' and normal mortals, whom the wizards call muggles. The third and final group are muggle-borns, who are witches and wizards born in a muggle family."

"And what exactly does their magic do?" I questioned.

"Well, to actually use their magic, they need wands made of a series of magical substances. Then they say a word of power, or as they call it, a spell. Sometimes you have to make a movement with the wand, sometimes you just point it at your target. It depends on the complexity of the spell."

"And where do all those wizards live?" I asked. "Surely someone would know about them."

"Some muggles _do_ know of them, but that's because they are related. Some wizards live in all-magical villages, though there are few of them. Most of them live pretending they're muggles. There lifestyle is interesting, if sometimes amusing. Some wizards work at the Ministry of Magic. Others are doctors, or healers, as they call them. Some play in the most famous sport in the wizarding world. It's called Quiddich, and it's played on flying broomsticks-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." I interrupted her. "Did you just say _flying broomsticks?!_"

Hecate smiled. "Yes, I did. There are a much strange things in their version of the world. I shall tell you as much as I can about them."

And so she did. She talked about dementors, invisibility cloaks, time turners, boggarts, pensieves and so many other impossible things. Everyone listened with fascination and curiosity, hungrily taking in everything. After so many impossible missions and training, we finally find a distraction from everything. But then Hecate turned serious again.

"But with all these wonders come people, hungry for power and ruling. Years ago, there was a wizard named Tom Riddle made wrong decisions and turned into a dark wizard. He renamed himself as lord Voldemort. His followers he named Death Eaters."

A couple people snorted, and I laughed. "These wizards are ridiculous when it comes to names. Muggles? Death Eaters? _Voldemort?_"

"It is rather amusing to listen to witches' and wizards' names." agreed Hecate. "But back to the story. Voldemort found out about a prophecy that's about how a boy born at the end of July with parents that have defied Voldemort thrice may be able to kill him. There are two boys that match this prophecy both at that time around a year old. The first is Neville Longbottom, and the second is Harry Potter. The second is the one of the prophecy, but lord Voldemort did not know that. He decides to kill Harry first, but under circumstances we will discuss later, he fails to kill Harry Potter. He uses, as always, a Killing curse. This time the curse rebounds and hits lord Voldemort, who supposedly 'dies'. The only mark Harry was left with was a scar on his forehead shaped as a lightning bolt."

I looked at her curiously. "What did you mean when you said 'supposedly dies'?"

Hecate opened her mouth to speak, but Nemesis interrupted her. "You can inform them of all this when you are training them. Tell them about the most recent events."

"Of course." Hecate said. "Two weeks ago, in a game called the Triwizard Tournament (which I will tell you more about later), Voldemort was resurrected. For him to do so, he needed the bones of his dead father, a human sacrifice, and the blood of Harry Potter. He uses a Portkey, the thing I told you about earlier, to take Harry Potter to his father's grave. That's where he retrieved a body. Harry Potter manages to escape with the Portkey he was taken there. After, he is almost killed by an imposter sent by the Dark Lord. Luckily, he is saved by people we will discuss later."

"How do you know this?" I asked suspiciously.

It was Nemesis who answered this time. "His Death Eaters would never help any of us, but we can control some of them to give us information. Then we wipe all memories of this, so even they don't know they're helping us."

"And what will the guardians do about all this?" Erick asked.

Nemesis smirked. "Before the guardians 'do anything about this', you first must be trained to look, act, have the knowledge and, of course, be able to make spells like witches and wizards. The only thing we can't do anything about is that there are only three spells that have any sort of effect on demigods, which is because most spells only work on mortals. You are half-gods. The spells that do work on you are the spells Tartarus himself gave to the wizards. They're called the Unforgivable Curses. The first one is the Imperious Curse, which gives the power of control over another. This is the only one of the three Curses that can be resisted if you have the willpower to do so.

"The second one is called the Cruciatus Curse, of which you are in so much pain that you may go insane. It happened with the Longbottoms. It's made specifically for torturing people.

"The third and final Unforgivable is the Killing curse. Every single person that it's used on has died, except for Harry Potter, which we will explain why later."

"And after this training is done, what will we do?" Somebody in the crowd asked.

"A couple of people will be chosen to try weaken and work against lord Voldemort, but not kill him. Not all prophecies come true, but this one will. Only Harry Potter has a chance to kill him. Only one person will be chosen to befriend and guard Potter. We will tell you who will do what when the time comes. For now, you will train until the first of September."

"Will we continue with our previous training while we are doing all this?" questioned Erick hopefully.

"Yes." Nemesis answered. Everybody groaned. "But," she put a finger in the air. "You shall only train three hours in the morning with your regular training, then four hours in the afternoon for wizarding training.

"Well," I muttered. "It's better than nothing." A couple people nodded in agreement.

"Yes, it is." Nemesis acknowledged. "You get your night off. You start tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Percy Jackson, Harry Potter, and everything I haven't created is not mine. It's either Rick Riordan's or J. K. Rowling's.**

We trained all summer. Hecate turned into a teacher, but I don't think she minded much. Actually, I think she liked it.

She told us why Harry Potter survived the Killing Curse, why he has the scar, how his scar works, how Voldemort retrieved his body, why he shouldn't have used Harry Potters blood to resurrect and much more. She told us about Hogwarts and everything about it. Hecate also told us about the Triwizard Tournament, Harry's friends, Harry's Godfather, Peter Pettigrew, Barty Crouch, Azkaban, the Weaslys, the Malfoys, Tom Riddles past, the first, second, third and fourth years at Hogwarts of Harry Potter, the past of Albus Dumbledore, and to more advanced people, she told about the Horcruxes.

We also learned spells, each receiving our own separate wand. Mine was of a shadow tree, found only in the Underworld. The core was made of moonlace, and I discovered that at night, my wand glows. This may sound weird, but it almost felt as if my wand has it's own... personality. I named her Aras, meaning _the intelligence of an eagle_. The wand seemed to hum when I said her name. I decided she was female.

You must have noticed my lack of resemblance with my mother and have probably wondered who my father was. The truth is, I don't know either. Whenever I tried to ask Nemesis about him, she quickly changes the subject. And when it comes to goddesses, it's better to understand from insinuations. But I was willing to try again. I made an Iris message for Nemesis. She appeared.

"What is it? Is there something wrong at camp?" she asked quickly. Then she saw my face. "Not this again."

"How did you know that?" I demanded. "I have an awesome poker face."

Nemesis gave me a half-smile. "I am a goddess, Terentia. Do you not think it is my job to read faces?"

I shrugged. "Probably. I guess I should work harder on that. But I didn't call to discuss my poker face. I called to try to find something about my father."

Nemesis sighed. "Okay."

I stared. "Just like that? I expected it to be harder."

My mom almost laughed. "I'm only telling you this because you know about the wizarding world. Your father was a wizard."

Whoa.

I gaped at her, probably looking like a fish. At the moment, I didn't care.

"What - I mean, how..." I tried to form some sort of coherent sentence and failed miserably.

This time, Nemesis did laugh. "And I haven't even told you the best part. He was the son of Artemis."

This time, I didn't even try to say anything. I just stared.

Like you all probably know, Artemis is a maiden goddess-meaning she swore never to fall in love. She hated men. Her favorite sport (after hunting) is turning men into _jackalopes_. I've met her before, and she does not just fall in love with every mortal man she sees. In fact, she doesn't fall in love with _any_ mortal man she sees. Even if another goddess was his mother, or my grandmother, it would still be nearly impossible for them to even meet, since gods don't like wizards (Hecate told us that).

Finally, I managed to say something _sort of_ coherent. "How is that even... _possible_?"

"It isn't." Nemesis simply answered. "I do not think it's possible Artemis to fall in love with a man, simply because she wouldn't give him a chance. Aphrodite wanted to play a trick on her without getting blamed, so she somehow convinced Cupid to shoot his arrows at Artemis while she was sleeping. Gods, of course, don't sleep, but Aphrodite convinced (or most likely charmspeaked) Hypnos to put Artemis into a deep sleep for a short while. When she woke up, she found herself hopelessly in love in a wizard. She told her Hunters that she will be gone for a while and goes to 'her love'. Artemis finds the wizard, one thing leads to another, and she ends up with a baby boy. By then, Cupid removes his spell from her. She has no love for her child, much less a boy. But she isn't cruel enough to kill or abandon her child somewhere it would surely die. Instead, she gives the child to his father so he could look after him. That's why you have silver hair, because your father did. Your eyes, too, are from your father."

"Uh... I don't really know what to say about that." I confessed. It wasn't at all what I expected. But, really, how could I expect something like this?

"You don't need to."Nemesis replied.

We were both silent. I didn't know what to say. It seemed Nemesis didn't either.

Awkward.

"Well, I'm going back to my training, then..." I said uncomfortably. But Nemesis cut me off.

"Wait!" She looked panicked, but closed her eyes, concentrating. Then they snapped open.

"Harry Potter is in trouble! He will be attacked by seventy-eight dementors in approximately four minutes fifty-three seconds." she looked at me, determined. "Take your wand, Terentia, and go to him with your direwolf as fast as possible to Magnolia Cresent, Little Whinging, Surrey, UK. If you need help, just say _help _in Greek and others will come. Try not to let anyone see you or the direwolf."

I nodded quickly and broke the connection. I called for Kajika.

He came right away, melting out of the shadows. I told him the coordinates through our mind link. He bounded into a shadow and we disappeared.

* * *

After the shadow-travel, we appeared on what had to be Magnolia road. It was dark, but the streetlamps illuminated pretty much everything. The road full of large, square houses with perfectly manicured lawns. In front of them were parked very clean cars. The curtained windows made patches of jewel-bright colour in the darkness.

At the end of the street, there were two figures-one very large and one skinny. I guessed one of them was Potter. As I closed in, I started to hear their voices.

"...He cheeked me." the fat boy said.

"Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? 'Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true." the other boy replied. I stifled a laugh.

A muscle ticked in the Fatty's jaw. They turned right, down the narrow alleyway. I followed them. It was empty and much darker than the other street because there were no streetlamps. Their footsteps were muffled between garage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.

"Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?" Fatty said after a few seconds.

"What thing?"

"That - that thing you are hiding."

The boy I decided was Harry grinned again.

"Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I s'pose, if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time."

Harry pulled out his wand. I saw Fatty look sideways at it.

"You're not allowed," Fatty said at once. "I know you're not. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to."

"How d'you know they haven't changed the rules, Big D?"

"They haven't," said Fatty, though he didn't sound completely convinced.

Harry laughed softly.

"You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?" Fatty snarled.

"Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten year old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?"

"He was sixteen, for your information," snarled Fatty, "And he was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finished with him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out -"

"Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry's wand?"

"Not this brave at night, are you?" sneered Fatty.

"This is night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this."

"I mean when you're in bed!" Fatty snarled.

He had stopped walking. Harry stopped too, staring at Fatty.

From the little I could see of Fatty's large face, he was wearing a strangely triumphant look.

"What d'you mean, I'm not brave when I'm in bed?' said Harry, completely nonplussed. "What am I supposed to be frightened of, pillows or something?"

"I heard you last night,' said Fatty breathlessly. Talking in your sleep. Moaning."

"What d'you mean?" Harry said again, but something in his expression changed. Almost... scared.

Fatty gave a harsh bark of laughter, then adopted a high-pitched whimpering voice.

" 'Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!' Who's Cedric - your boyfriend?"

"I - you're lying,' said Harry. Now he really did look scared. I knew why. Cedric was the boy that went with him in the graveyard and died.

" 'Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo hoo!' "

"Shut up,' said Harry quietly. 'Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!'

" 'Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to - ' Don't you point that thing at me!"

Fatty backed into the alley wall. Harry was pointing the wand directly at Fatty's heart. I could feel that it was not only anger, but also a need for revenge pounding in Harry's veins - what wouldn't he give to strike now, to jinx Fatty so thoroughly he'd have to crawl home like an insect, struck dumb, sprouting feelers...

"Don't ever talk about that again," Harry snarled. "D'you understand me?"

"Point that thing somewhere else!"

"I said, do you understand me?"

"Point it somewhere else!"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM - "

Fatty gave an odd. shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch black and lightless - the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant rumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.

Dementors.

I cursed in Ancient Greek for letting my guard down. Those two distract me, and in result, they're going to get their souls sucked out. I quickly took my wand and turned in the direction I heard the dementors take in long, hoarse, rattling breaths. I pointed my wand in that direction and said: "_Expecto patronum_!"

A beautiful silver direwolf erupted from my wand. She was enormous, about the size of a garbage truck. Demigods are better at spells than witches and wizards because we're, well, half gods. That's why I managed to conjure up such a gigantic patronum.

My direwolf started attacking all the dementors, which were probably, as Nemesis said, seventy-eight. The patronum chased away all of them for under a minute. Then she dissolved into silver dust.

And... it was over.

I expected it to be harder.

Moon, stars and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighbouring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again.

Harry stood frozen, staring at me. I realized I was still holding my wand in the air and put back up my sleeve. Then I got near and looked at him, determined.

"Listen closely, Harry Potter. You're going to have to pretend you were the one that banished all those dementors. I'm sorry. The Ministry of Magic is going to send you a letter saying you're expelled from Hogwarts, then send another one saying you might not be expelled and that you're going to go to a hearing. Do not leave the Dursleys. Tomorrow, a couple acquaintances of yours will going to take you to their Headquarters. Do not tell them about me. If you want, you can tell your friends, but only if you're sure they won't tell anyone. When we meet again, I'll explain as much as I can. It might be sooner than you think."

Harry Potter stared at me, still unmoving, but I didn't stick around. I ran out of the alleyway and onto Magnolia road. Kajika was waiting for me there. I jumped onto his back, and together, we melted into the shadows.

* * *

**Harry Potter's POV: **

**(most of this is from the original book, so you know the drill - most of this part of my story does not belong to me)**

Harry stared at the place the girl had disappeared. He could not believe what had just happened. Dementors here, in Little Whinging. And how did that silver-haired girl make such a large and powerful patronum? It seemed impossible.

Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking. Harry bent down to see whether he was in a fit state to stand up, but then he heard loud, running footsteps behind him. Instinctively raising his wand, he span on his heel to face the newcomer.

Mrs. Figg, their batty old neighbour, came panting into sight. Her grizzled grey hair was escaping from its hairnet, a clanking String shopping bag was swinging from her wrist and her feet were halfway out of her tartan carpet slippers. Harry made to stow his wand hurriedly out of sight, but -

"Don't put it away, idiot boy!" she shrieked. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!"

"What?" said Harry blankly.

"He left!" said Mrs. Figg, wringing her hands. "Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell off the back of a broom! I told him I'd flay him alive if he went, and now look! Dementors! It's just lucky I put Mr. Tibbles on the case! But we haven't got time to stand around! Hurry, now, we've got to get you back! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will kill him!"

"But - " The revelation that his batty old cat-obsessed neighbour knew what Dementors were was almost as big a shock to Harry as the silver-haired girl beating around a hundred of them down the alleyway. "You're - you're a witch?"

"I'm a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you fight off Dementors? He left you completely without cover when I'd warned him - "

"This Mundungus has been following me? Hang on - it was him! He Disapparated from the front of my house!"

"Yes, yes, yes, but luckily I'd stationed Mr. Tibbles under a car just in case, and Mr. Tibbles came and warned me, but by the time I got to your house you'd gone - and now - oh, what's Dumbledore going to say? You!" she shrieked at Dudley, still spawn on the alley floor. "Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick!"

"You know Dumbledore?" said Harry, staring at her.

"Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore? But come on - I'll be no help if they come back, I've never so much as Transfigured a teabag."

She stooped down, seized one of Dudley's massive arms in her wizened hands and tugged.

"Get up, you useless lump, get up!"

But Dudley either could not or would not move. He remained on the ground, trembling and ashen-faced, his mouth shut very tight.

"Wait-what exactly did you see back there?" Harry asked quickly.

"What exactly did I see back there? I saw you make a patronum and drive away those two dementors! What else would I see?" Mrs. Figg answered, all the while tugging on Dudley to get up.

"I'll do it." Harry took hold of Dudley's arm and heaved. With an enormous effort he managed to hoist him to his feet. Dudley seemed to be on the point of fainting. His small eyes were rolling in their sockets and sweat was beading his face; the moment Harry let go of him he swayed dangerously.

"Hurry up!" said Mrs. Figg hysterically.

Harry pulled one of Dudley's massive arms around his own shoulders and dragged him towards the road, sagging slightly under the weight. Mrs Figg tottered along in front of them, peering anxiously around the corner.

"Keep your wand out," she told Harry, as they entered Wisteria Walk. "Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now, there's going to be hell to pay anyway, we might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. Talk about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery . . . this was exactly what Dumbledore was afraid of - What's that at the end of the street? Oh, it's just Mr Prentice . . . don't put your wand away, boy, don't I keep telling you I'm no use?"

It was not easy to hold a wand steady and haul Dudley along at the same time. Harry gave his cousin an impatient dig in the ribs, but Dudley seemed to have lost all desire for independent movement. He was slumped on Harry's shoulder, his large feet dragging along the ground.

"Why didn't you tell me you're a Squib, Mrs. Figg?" asked Harry, panting with the effort to keep walking. "All those times I came round your house - why didn't you say anything?"

"Dumbledore's orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I'm sorry I gave you such a miserable time, Harry, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they'd thought you enjoyed it. It wasn't easy, you know . . . but oh my word," she said tragically, wringing her hands once more, "when Dumbledore hears about this - how could Mundungus have left, he was supposed to be on duty until midnight - where is he? How am I going to tell Dumbledore what's happened? I can't Apparate."

"I've got an owl, you can borrow her." Harry groaned, wondering whether his spine was going to snap under Dudley's weight.

"Harry, you don't understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as possible, the Ministry have their own ways of detecting underage magic, they'll know already, you mark my words."

"But I was getting rid of Dementors, I had to use magic - they're going to be more worried about what Dementors were doing floating around Wisteria Walk, surely?"

"Oh, my dear, I wish it were so, but I'm afraid - MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

"There was a loud crack and a strong smell of drink mingled with stale tobacco filled the air as a squat, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat materialised right in front of them. He had short, bandy legs, long straggly ginger hair and bloodshot, baggy eyes that gave him the doleful look of a basset hound. He was also clutching a silvery bundle that Harry recognised at once as an Invisibility Cloak.

" 'S'up, Figgy?" he said, staring from Mrs. Figg to Harry and Dudley. "What 'appened to staying undercover?"

"I'll give you undercover!" cried Mrs. Figg. "Dementors, you useless, skiving sneak thief!"

"Dementors?' repeated Mundungus, aghast. "Dementors, 'ere?"

"Yes, here, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!' shrieked Mrs. Figg. 'Dementors attacking the boy on your watch!"

"Blimey," said Mundungus weakly, looking from Mrs. Figg to Harry, and back again. "Blimey, I - "

"And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to go? Didn't I?"

"I - well, I -" Mundungus looked deeply uncomfortable. "It - it was a very good business opportunity see - "

Mrs. Figg raised the arm from which her string bag dangled and whacked Mundungus around the lace and neck with it; judging by the clanking noise it made it was full of cat food.

"Ouch - gerroff - gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone's gotta tell Dumbledore!"

"Yes - they - have!" yelled Mrs. Figg, swinging the bag of cat food at every bit of Mundungus she could reach. "And - it - had - better - be - you - and - you - can - tell - him - why - you - weren't - there - to - help!"

"Keep your 'airnet on!' said Mundungus, his arms over his head, cowering. 'I'm going, I'm going!"

And with another loud crack, he vanished.

"I hope Dumbledore murders him!" said Mrs. Figg furiously. "Now come on, Harry, what are you waiting for?"

Harry decided not to waste his remaining breath on pointing out that he could barely walk under Dudley's bulk. He gave the semi-conscious Dudley a heave and staggered onwards.

"I'll take you to the door," said Mrs. Figg, as they turned into Privet Drive. "Just in case there are more of them around . . . oh my word, what a catastrophe . . . and you had to fight them off yourself . . . and Dumbledore said we were to keep you from doing magic at all costs . . . well, it's no good crying over spilt potion, I suppose . . . but the cat's among the pixies now."

"So,' Harry panted, "Dumbledore's . . . been having . . . me followed?"

"Of course he has,' said Mrs. Figg impatiently. "Did you expect him to let you wander around on your own after what happened in June? Good Lord, boy, they told me you were intelligent . . . right . . . get inside and stay there,' she said, as they reached number four. 'I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough."

"What are you going to do?" asked Harry quickly.

"I'm going straight home," said Mrs. Figg, staring around the dark street and shuddering. "I'll need to wait for more instructions. Just stay in the house. Goodnight."

"Hang on, don't go yet! I want to know - "

But Mrs. Figg had already set off at a trot, carpet slippers flopping, string bag clanking.

"Wait!" Harry shouted after her. He had a million questions to ask anyone who was in contact with Dumbledore; but within seconds Mrs Figg was swallowed by the darkness. Scowling, Harry readjusted Dudley on his shoulder and made his slow, painful way up number four's garden path.


	3. Chapter 3

Because of the event with the dementers, the guardians had to send someone to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and later, to Hogwarts. Unfortunately, that someone was me.

"No!" I exclaimed. "I am _not_ going to sit around doing nothing at some school, getting involved in Harry Potter's drama! Send someone else!". Admittedly, Hogwarts was an awesome place to live, but I can't just sit around for a whole year in the same place. I guess it's because of my ADHD.

"But you're the best possible person, since he already knows you." said Hecate, trying to convince me.

"Well then, plant some fake memories of another guardian! It's not that hard." That was sort of a lie, but they _do_ always plant new memories if it's really needed.

"You know as well as I do that we only do that when it's absolutely necessary. And besides, it's not fair to the others that you're always working in the field, while they 'sit around doing nothing', as you put it." she insisted. I looked down guiltily, but the goddess continued. "Plus, I don't think Potter's _drama_, as you called it, will be that boring. You know what happened at his other years at Hogwarts." That was true, and Hecate got me when she tried to guilt trip me. I _was_ acting a little selfish.

But that was because I was more tired than I let on. That magic had drained me a lot.

"Okay, okay. I'll go." I said reluctantly. "But who am I going to practice with? I'm going to get _so_ out of form this year!"

"Don't worry. We'll have something arranged." she assured me. "Now," she started professionally. "You'll be going under the name 'Black', from the _Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. _I taught you the basics for all the pureblood families, but I'll have to teach you more details about this one." And so she did.

* * *

**Harry's P.O.V. (This, again, is mostly from the book and belongs to J. K. Rowling)**

_I've just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here._

Harry copied these words on to three separate pieces of parchment the moment he reached the desk in his dark bedroom. He addressed the first to Sirius, the second to Ron and the third to Hermione. His owl, Hedwig, was off hunting; her cage stood empty on the desk. Harry paced the bedroom waiting for her to come back, his head pounding, his brain too busy for sleep even though his eyes stung and itched with tiredness. His back ached from hauling Dudley home, and the lump on his head where Dudley had hit him were throbbing painfully.

Up and down he paced, consumed with anger and frustration, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists, casting angry looks out at the empty, star-strewn sky every time he passed the window. Dementors sent to get him, Mrs. Figg and Mundungus Fletcher tailing him in secret, then suspension from Hogwarts and a hearing at the Ministry of Magic - and still no one was telling him what was going on.

When he had gotten home, the silver-haired girl's prediction had come true and he got two owls, the first saying he was expelled from Hogwarts, the latter say he might not be chucked out and that he'l have to go to a hearing. Then the Dursleys made him explain what happened outside after Dudley threw up on the doormat. He got two other letters telling him to stay put and not to leave the Dursleys.

Then, aunt Petunia got a Howler from someone, saying _'Remember my last, Petunia.'_

Why was he still trapped here without information? Why was everyone treating him like some naughty kid? _Don't do any more magic, stay in the house..._

He kicked his school trunk as he passed it, but far from relieving his anger he felt worse, as he now had a sharp pain in his toe to deal with in addition to the pain in the rest of his body

Just as he limped past the window, Hedwig soared through it with a soft rustle of wings like a small ghost.

"About time!" Harry snarled, as she landed lightly on top of her cage. "You can put that down, I've got work for you!"

Hedwig's large, round, amber eyes gazed at him reproachfully over the dead frog clamped in her beak.

"Come here," said Harry, picking up the three small rolls of parchment and a leather thong and tying the scrolls to her scaly leg. "Take these straight to Sirius, Ron and Hermione and don't come back here without good long replies. Keep pecking them till they've written decent-length answers if you've got to. Understand?"

Hedwig gave a muffled hooting noise, her beak still full of frog.

"Get going, then,' said Harry.

She took off immediately. The moment she'd gone, Harry threw himself down on his bed without undressing and stared at the dark ceiling. In addition to every other miserable feeling, he now felt guilty that he'd been irritable with Hedwig; she was the only friend he had at number four, Privet Drive. But he'd make it up to her when she came back with the answers from Sirius, Ron and Hermione.

They were bound to write back quickly; they couldn't possibly ignore a Dementor attack. He'd probably wake up tomorrow to three fat letters full of sympathy and plans for his immediate removal to The Burrow. And with that comforting idea, sleep rolled over him, stifling all further thought.

But Hedwig didn't return next morning. Harry spent the day in his bedroom, leaving it only to go to the bathroom. Three times that day Aunt Petunia shoved food into his room through the cat-Flap Uncle Vernon had installed three summers ago. Every time Harry heard her approaching he tried to question her about the Howler, but he might as well have interrogated the doorknob for all the answers he got. Otherwise, the Dursleys kept well clear of his bedroom. Harry couldn't see the point of forcing his company on them; another row would achieve nothing except perhaps make him so angry he'd perform more illegal magic.

So it went on for three whole days. Harry was alternately filled with restless energy that made him unable to settle to anything, during which time he paced his bedroom, furious at the whole lot of them for leaving him to stew in this mess; and with a lethargy so complete that he could lie on his bed for an hour at a time, staring dazedly into space, aching with dread at the thought of the Ministry hearing.

What if they ruled against him? What if he was expelled and his wand was snapped in half? What would he do, where would he go? He could not return to living full-time with the Dursleys, not now that he knew the other world, the one to which he really belonged. Might he be able to move into Sirius's house, as Sirius had suggested a year ago, before he had been forced to flee from the Ministry? Would Harry be allowed to live there alone, given that he was still underage? Or would the matter of where he went next be decided for him? Had his breach of the International Statute of Secrecy been severe enough to land him in a cell in Azkaban? Whenever this thought occurred, Harry invariably slid off his bed and began pacing again.

On the fourth night after Hedwig's departure Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.

"We're going out." he said.

"Sorry?"

"We - that is to say, your aunt, Dudley and I - are going out."

"Fine," said Harry dully, looking back at the ceiling.

"You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away."

"Okay."

"You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions."

"Right."

"You are not to steal food from the fridge."

"Okay."

"I am going to lock your door."

"You do that."

Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, clearly suspicious of this lack of argument, then stomped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Harry heard the key turn in the lock and Uncle Vernon's footsteps walking heavily down the stairs. A few minutes later he heard the slamming of car doors, the rumble of an engine, and the unmistakeable sound of the car sweeping out of the drive.

Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned.

The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery.

Then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below.

He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn't heard their car.

There was silence for a few seconds, then voices.

_Burglars_, he thought, sliding off the bed on to his feet - but a split second later it occurred to him that burglars would keep their voices down, and whoever was moving around in the kitchen was certainly not troubling to do so.

He snatched up his wand from the bedside table and stood lacing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. Next moment, he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.

Harry stood motionless, staring through the open doorway at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment, then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs.

His heart shot upwards into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.

"Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out," said a low, growling voice.

Harry's heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew that voice, but he did not lower his wand.

"Professor Moody?" he said uncertainly.

"I don't know so much about _Professor_", growled the voice, "Never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly."

Harry lowered his wand slightly but did not relax his grip on it, nor did he move. He had very good reason to be suspicious. He had recently spent nine months in what he had thought was Mad-Eye Moody's company only to find out that it wasn't Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who had tried to kill Harry before being unmasked. But before he could make a decision about what to do next, a second, slightly hoarse voice floated upstairs.

"It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away."

Harry's heart leapt. He knew that voice, too, though he hadn't heard it for over a year.

"P-Professor Lupin?" he said disbelievingly. "Is that you?"

"Why are we all standing in the dark?" said a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman's. "Lumos."

A wand-tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. The people below were crowded around the loot of the stairs, gazing up at him intently, some craning their heads for a better look.

Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more grey hairs than when Harry had last said goodbye to him and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back despite his state of shock.

"Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would," said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. "Wotcher, Harry!"

"Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus," said a bald black wizard standing furthest back - he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear - "He looks exactly like James."

"Except the eyes," said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. "Lily's eyes."

Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled grey hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Harry through his mismatched eyes. One eye was small, dark and beady, the other large, round and electric blue - the magical eye that could see through walls, doors and the back of Moody's own head.

"Are you quite sure it's him, Lupin?" he growled. "I'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?"

"Harry, what form does your Patronus take?" Lupin asked.

"A stag," said Harry nervously.

"That's him, Mad-Eye," said Lupin.

Very conscious of everybody still staring at him, Harry descended the stairs, stowing his wand in the back pocket of his jeans as he came.

"Don't put your wand there, boy!" roared Moody. "What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!"

"Who d'you know who's lost a buttock?" the violet-haired woman asked Mad-Eye interestedly.

"Never you mind, you just keep your wand out of your back pocket!" growled Mad-Eye. "Elementary wand-safety, nobody bothers about it any more." He stumped off towards the kitchen. "And I saw that," he added irritably, as the woman rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

Lupin held out his hand and shook Harry's.

"How are you?" he asked, looking closely at Harry.

"F-fine..."

Harry could hardly believe this was real. Four weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove him from Privet Drive, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards was standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this was a long-standing arrangement. He glanced at the people surrounding Lupin; they were still gazing avidly at him. He felt very conscious of the fact that he had not combed his hair for four days.

"I'm - you're really lucky the Dursleys are out . . ." he mumbled.

"Lucky, ha!" said the violet-haired woman. "It was me who lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now . . . or they think they are."

Harry had a fleeting vision of Uncle Vernon's face when he realised there was no All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition.

"We are leaving, aren't we?" he asked. "Soon?"

"Almost at once," said Lupin, "we're just waiting for the all-clear."

"Where are we going? The Burrow?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Not The Burrow, no," said Lupin, motioning Harry towards the kitchen; the little knot of wizards followed, all still eyeing Harry curiously. "Too risky. We've set up Headquarters somewhere undetectable. It's taken a while..."

Mad-Eye Moody was now sitting at the kitchen table swigging from a hip flask, his magical eye spinning in all directions, taking in the Dursleys' many labour-saving appliances.

"This is Alastor Moody, Harry," Lupin continued, pointing towards Moody. "Yeah, I know," said Harry uncomfortably. It felt odd to be introduced to somebody he'd thought he'd known for a year.

"And this is Nymphadora - "

"Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus," said the young witch with a shudder, "It's Tonks."

"Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only," finished Lupin.

"So would you if your fool of a mother had called you Nymphadora," muttered Tonks.

"And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt." He indicated the tall black wizard, who bowed. "Elphias Doge." The wheezy-voiced wizard nodded. "Dedalus Diggle - "

"We've met before," squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his violet-coloured top hat.

"Emmeline Vance." A stately-looking witch in an emerald green shawl inclined her head. "Sturgis Podmore." A square-jawed wizard with thick straw-coloured hair winked. "And Hestia Jones." A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster.

Harry inclined his head awkwardly at each of them as they were introduced. He wished they would look at something other than him; it was as though he had suddenly been ushered on-stage. He also wondered why so many of their, were there.

"A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you," said Lupin, as though he had read Harry's mind; the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

"Yeah, well, the more the better," said Moody darkly. "We're your guard, Potter."

"We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off," said Lupin, glancing out of the kitchen window. "We've got about fifteen minutes."

"Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?" said the witch called Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. "My dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just as it does with wizards?"

"Er - yeah," said Harry. "Look - " he turned back to Lupin, "what's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol-?"

Several of the witches and wizards made odd hissing noises; Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again and Moody growled, "Shut up!"

"What?" said Harry.

"We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky," said Moody, turning his normal eye on Harry. His magical eye remained focused on the ceiling. "Damn it," he added angrily, putting a hand up to the magical eye, "It keeps getting stuck - ever since that scum wore it."

And with a nasty squelching sound much like a plunger being pulled from a sink, he popped out his eye.

"Mad-Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?" said Tonks conversationally.

"Get me a glass of water, would you, Harry," requested Moody.

Harry crossed to the dishwasher, took out a clean glass and filled it with water at the sink, still watched eagerly by the band of wizards. Their relentless staring was starting to annoy him."Cheers," said Moody, when Harry handed him the glass. He dropped the magical eyeball into the water and prodded it up and down; the eye whizzed around, staring at them all in turn. "I want three hundred and sixty degrees visibility on the return journey."

"How're we getting - wherever we're going?" Harry asked.

"Brooms," said Lupin. "Only way. You're too young to Apparate, they'll be watching the Floo Network and it's more than our life's worth to set up an un-authorised Portkey."

"Remus says you're a good flier," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice.

"He's excellent," said Lupin, who was checking his watch. "Anyway, you'd better go and get packed, Harry, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes."

"I'll come and help you," said Tonks brightly.

She followed Harry back into the hall and up the stairs, looking around with much curiosity and interest.

"Funny place," she said. "It's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. Oh, this is better," she added, as they entered Harry's bedroom and he turned on the light.

His room was certainly much messier than the rest of the house. Confined to it for four days in a very bad mood, Harry had not bothered tidying up after himself. Most of the books he owned were strewn over the floor where he'd tried to distract himself with each in turn and thrown it aside; Hedwig's cage needed cleaning out and was starting to smell; and his trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizards' robes that had spilled on to the floor around it.

Harry started picking up books and throwing them hastily into his trunk. Tonks paused at his open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.

"You know, I don't think violet's really my colour," she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. "D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?"

"Er - ' said Harry, looking up at her over the top of Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland.

"Yeah, it does," said Tonks decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she was struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.

"How did you do that?" said Harry, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again.

"I'm a Metamorphmagus," she said, looking back at her reflection and turning her head so that she could see her hair from all directions. 'It means I can change my appearance at will," she added, spotting Harry's puzzled expression in the mirror behind her. "I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great."

"You're an Auror?" said Harry, impressed. Being a Dark-wizard-catcher was the only career he'd ever considered after Hogwarts.

"Yeah,' said Tonks, looking proud. "Kingsley is as well, he's a bit higher up than me, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking. I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?"

"Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?" Harry asked her, straightening up, completely forgetting about packing.

Tonks chuckled.

"Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?"

Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.

"No, I wouldn't mind," Harry mumbled, turning away. He did not like people staring at his scar.

"Well, you'll have to learn the hard way, I'm afraid,' said Tonks. "Metamorphmagi are really rare, they're born, not made. Most wizards reed to use a wand, or potions, to change their appearance. But we've got to get going, Harry, we're supposed to be packing," she added guiltily, looking around at all the mess on the floor.

"Oh - yeah," said Harry, grabbing a few more books.

"Don't be stupid, it'll be much quicker if I - pack!" cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor.

Books, clothes, telescope and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk.

"It's not very neat," said Tonks, walking over to the trunk and looking down at the jumble inside. "My mum's got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly - she even gets the socks to fold themselves - but I've never mastered how she does it - it's a kind of flick - " She flicked her wand hopefully.

One of Harry's socks gave a feeble sort of wiggle and flopped back on top of the mess in the trunk.

"Ah, well,' said Tonks, slamming the trunk's lid shut, 'at least it's all in. That could do with a bit of cleaning, too.' She pointed her wand at Hedwig's cage. "_Scourgify_." A few feathers and droppings vanished. "Well, that's a bit better - I've never quite got the hang of these householdy sort of spells. Right - got everything? Cauldron? Broom? Wow! - A Firebolt?"

Her eyes widened as they fell on the broomstick in Harry's right hand. It was his pride and joy, a gift from Sirius, an international-standard broomstick.

"And I'm still riding a Comet Two Sixty," said Tonks enviously. 'Ah, well . . . wand still in your jeans? Both buttocks still on? Okay, let's go. _Locomotor_ trunk."

Harry's trunk rose a few inches into the air. Holding her wand like a conductors baton, Tonks made the trunk hover across the room and out of the door ahead of them, Hedwig's cage in her left hand. Harry followed her down the stairs carrying his broomstick.

Back in the kitchen Moody had replaced his eye, which was spinning so fast after its cleaning it made Harry feel sick to look at it. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler she had come across while rummaging in the drawers. Lupin was sealing a letter addressed to the Dursleys.

"Excellent," said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. "We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Harry, I've left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry - "

"They won't," said Harry.

" - that you're safe - "

"That'll just depress them."

" - and you'll see them next summer."

"Do I have to?"

Lupin smiled but made no answer.

"Come here, boy," said Moody gruffly, beckoning Harry towards him with his wand. 'I need to Disillusion you.'

"You need to what?" said Harry nervously.

"Disillusionment Charm," said Moody, raising his wand. "Lupin says you've got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won't stay on while we're flying; this'll disguise you better. Here you go - "

He rapped him hard on the top of the head and Harry felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there; cold trickles seemed to be running down his body from the point the wand had struck.

"Nice one, Mad-Eye," said Tonks appreciatively, staring at Harry's midriff.

Harry looked down at his body, or rather, what had been his body, for it didn't look anything like his any more. It was not invisible; it had simply taken on the exact colour and texture of the kitchen unit behind him. He seemed to have become a human chameleon.

"Come on," said Moody, unlocking the back door with his wand.

They all stepped outside on to Uncle Vernon's beautifully kept lawn.

"Clear night,' grunted Moody, his magical eye scanning the heavens. "Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you," he barked at Harry, "we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Lupin'll be covering you from below. I'm going to be behind you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed - "

"Is that likely?" Harry asked apprehensively, but Moody ignored him.

" - the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you."

"Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he'll think we're not taking this seriously," said Tonks, as she strapped Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage into a harness hanging from her broom.

"I'm just telling the boy the plan," growled Moody. "Our job's to deliver him safely to Headquarters and if we die in the attempt - "

"No one's going to die," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.

"Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!" said Lupin sharply, pointing into the sky.

Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Harry recognised them at once as wand sparks. He swung his right leg over his Firebolt, gripped its handle tightly and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as he was to be up in the air once more.

"Second signal, let's go!" said Lupin loudly as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them.

Harry kicked off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushed through his hair as the neat square gardens of Privet Drive fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark greens and blacks, and every thought of the Ministry hearing was swept from his mind as though the rush of air had blown it out of his head. He felt as though his heart was going to explode with pleasure; he was flying again, flying away from Privet Drive as he'd been fantasising about all summer, he was going home . . . for a few glorious moments, all his problems seemed to recede to nothing, insignificant in the vast, starry sky.

"Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!" shouted Moody from behind him. Tonks swerved and Harry followed her, watching his trunk swinging wildly beneath her broom. "We need more height . . . give it another quarter of a mile!"

Harry's eyes watered in the chill as they soared upwards: he could see nothing below now but tiny pinpricks of light that were car headlights and streetlamps. Two of those tiny lights might belong to Uncle Vernon's car . . . the Dursleys would be heading back to their empty house right now, full of rage about the nonexistent Lawn Competition . . . and Harry laughed aloud at the thought, though his voice was drowned by the flapping robes of the others, the creaking of the harness holding his trunk and the cage, and the whoosh of the wind in their ears as they sped through the air. He had not felt this alive in a month, or this happy.

"Bearing south!" shouted Mad-Eye. "Town ahead!"

They soared right to avoid passing directly over the glittering spider's web of lights below.

"Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!" called Moody.

"We're not going through clouds!" shouted Tonks angrily, "We'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!"

Harry was relieved to hear her say this; his hands were growing numb on the Firebolt's handle. He wished he had thought to put on a coat; he was starting to shiver.

They altered their course every now and then according to Mad-Eye's instructions. Harry's eyes were screwed up against the rush of icy wind that was starting to make his ears ache; he could remember being this cold on a broom only once before, during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in his third year, which had taken place in a storm. The guard around him was circling continuously like giant birds of prey. Harry lost track of time. He wondered how long they had been flying, it felt like an hour at least.

"Turning southwest!" yelled Moody "We want to avoid the motorway!"

Harry was now so chilled he thought longingly of the snug, dry interiors of the cars streaming along below, then, even more longingly, of travelling by Floo powder; it might be uncomfortable to spin around in fireplaces but it was at least warm in the flames . . . Kingsley Shacklebolt swooped around him, bald pate and earring gleaming slightly in the moonlight .., now Emmeline Vance was on his right, her wand out, her head turning left and right . . . then she, too, swooped over him, to be replaced by Sturgis Podmore . . .

"We ought to double back for a bit, just to make sure we're not being followed!' Moody shouted.

"ARE YOU MAD, MAD-EYE?" Tonks screamed from the front. "We're all frozen to our brooms! If we keep going off-course we're not going to get there until next week! Besides, we're nearly there now!"

"Time to start the descent!" came Lupin's voice. "Follow Tonks, Harry!"

Harry followed Tonks into a dive. They were heading for the Largest collection of lights he had yet seen, a huge, sprawling crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with patches of deepest black. Lower and lower they flew, until Harry could see individual headlights and streetlamps, chimneys and television aerials. He wanted to reach the ground very much, though he felt sure someone would have to unfreeze him from his broom.

"Here we go!" called Tonks, and a few seconds later she had landed.

Harry touched down right behind her and dismounted on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square Tonks was already unbuckling Harry's trunk. Shivering, Harry looked around. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming; some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, but Lupin said quietly, "In a minute."

Moody was rummaging in his cloak, his gnarled hands clumsy with cold.

"Got it," he muttered, raising what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it.

The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the unlighter again; the next lamp went out; he kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only remaining light came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.

"Borrowed it from Dumbledore," growled Moody, pocketing the Put-Outer. "That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window, see? Now come on, quick."

He took Harry by the arm and led him from the patch of grass, across the road and on to the pavement; Lupin and Tonks followed, carrying Harry's trunk between them, the rest of the guard, all with their wands out, flanking them.

The muffled pounding of a stereo was coming from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate.

"Here," Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment towards Harry's Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. "Read quickly and memorise."

Harry looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said:

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._


	4. Chapter 4

_Moody was rummaging in his cloak, his gnarled hands clumsy with cold._

_"Got it," he muttered, raising what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it._

_The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the unlighter again; the next lamp went out; he kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only remaining light came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead._

_"Borrowed it from Dumbledore," growled Moody, pocketing the Put-Outer. "That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window, see? Now come on, quick."_

_He took Harry by the arm and led him from the patch of grass, across the road and on to the pavement; Lupin and Tonks followed, carrying Harry's trunk between them, the rest of the guard, all with their wands out, flanking them._

_The muffled pounding of a stereo was coming from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate._

_"Here," Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment towards Harry's Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. "Read quickly and memorise."_

_Harry looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said:_

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

* * *

"What's the Order of the - ?' Harry began.

"Not here, boy!' snarled Moody. Wait till we're inside!'

He pulled the piece of parchment out of Harry's hand and set fire to it with his wand-tip. As the message curled into flames and floated to the ground, Harry looked around at the houses again. They were standing outside number eleven; he looked to the left and saw number ten; to the right, however, was number thirteen.

"But where's - ?'

"Think about what you've just memorised,' said Lupin quietly.

Harry thought, and no sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. Harry gaped at it. The stereo in number eleven thudded on. Apparently the Muggles inside hadn't felt anything.

"Come on, hurry,' growled Moody, prodding Harry in the back.

Harry walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialised door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox.

Lupin, pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter o' a chain. The door creaked open.

"Get in quick, Harry,' Lupin whispered, 'but don't go far inside and don't touch anything.'

Harry stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. He could smell damp, dust and a sweetish, rotting smell; the place had the feeling of a derelict building. He looked over his shoulder and saw the others filing in behind him, Lupin and Tonks carrying his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Moody was standing on the top step releasing the balls of light the Put-Outer had stolen from the streetlamps; they flew back to their bulbs and the square glowed momentarily with orange light before Moody limped inside and closed the front door, so that the darkness in the hall became complete.

"Here - '

He rapped Harry hard over the head with his wand; Harry felt as though something hot was trickling down his back this time and knew that the Disillusionment Charm must have lifted.

"Now stay still, everyone, while I give us a bit of light in here,' Moody whispered.

The others' hushed voices were giving Harry an odd feeling of foreboding; it was as though they had just entered the house of a dying person. He heard a soft hissing noise and then old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life all along the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway, where a cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls. Harry heard something scuttling behind the skirting board. Both the chandelier and the candelabra on a rickety table nearby were shaped like serpents.

There were hurried footsteps and Ron's mother, Mrs Weasley, emerged from a door at the far end of the hall. She was beaming in welcome as she hurried towards them, though Harry noticed that she was rather thinner and paler than she had been last time he had seen her.

"Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you!' she whispered, pulling him into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. 'You're looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid.'

She turned to the gang of wizards behind him and whispered urgently, 'He's just arrived, the meeting's started.'

The wizards behind Harry all made noises of interest and excitement and began filing past him towards the door through which Mrs Weasley had just come. Harry made to follow Lupin, but Mrs Weasley held him back.

"No, Harry, the meeting's only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meetings over, then we'll have dinner. And keep your voice down in the hall,' she added in an urgent whisper.

"Why?'

"I don't want anything to wake up.'

"What d'you - ?'

"I'll explain later, I've got to hurry, I'm supposed to be at the meeting - I'll just show you where you're sleeping.'

Pressing her finger to her lips, she led him on tiptoe past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains, behind which Harry supposed there must be another door, and after skirting a large umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg they started up the dark staircase, passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. A closer look showed Harry that the heads belonged to house-elves. All of them had the same rather snout-like nose.

Harry's bewilderment deepened with every step he took. What on earth were they doing in a house that looked as though it belonged to the Darkest of wizards?

"Mrs Weasley, why -?'

"Ron and Hermione will explain everything, dear, I've really got to dash,' Mrs Weasley whispered distractedly. There - ' they had reached the second landing, ' - you're the door on the right. I'll call you when it's over.'

And she hurried off downstairs again.

Harry crossed the dingy landing, turned the bedroom doorknob, which was shaped like a serpent's head, and opened the door.

He caught a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged, twin-bunkbedded room; then there was a loud twittering noise, followed by an even louder shriek, and his vision was completely obscured by a large quantity of very bushy hair. Hermione had thrown herself on to him in a hug that nearly knocked him flat, while Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zoomed excitedly round and round their heads.

"HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless - but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got things to tell us - 'the Dementors! When we heard - and that Ministry hearing - it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations - '

"Let him breathe, Hermione,' said Ron, grinning as he closed the door behind Harry. He seemed to have grown several more inches during their month apart, making him taller and more gangly looking than ever, though the long nose, bright red hair and freckles were the same.

Still beaming, Hermione let go of Harry, but before she could say another word there was a soft whooshing sound and something white soared from the top of a dark wardrobe and landed gently on Harry's shoulder.

"Hedwig!'

The snowy owl clicked her beak and nibbled his ear affectionately as Harry stroked her feathers.

'She's been in a right state,' said Ron. 'Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, look at this - '

He showed Harry the index finger of his right hand, which sported a half-healed but clearly deep cut.

"Oh, yeah,' Harry said. 'Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know - '

"We wanted to give them to you, mate,' said Ron. 'Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us - '

"- swear not to tell me,' said Harry. 'Yeah, Hermione's already said.'

The warm glow that had flared inside him at the sight of his two best friends was extinguished as something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden - after yearning to see them for a solid month - he felt he would rather Ron and Hermione left him alone.

There was a strained silence in which Harry stroked Hedwig automatically, not looking at either of the others.

"He seemed to think it was best,' said Hermione rather breathlessly. 'Dumbledore, I mean.'

"Right,' said Harry. He noticed that her hands, too, bore the marks of Hedwig's beak and found that he was not at all sorry.

"I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles -' Ron began.

"Yeah?' said Harry, raising his eyebrows. 'Have either of you been attacked by Dementors this summer?'

"Well, no - but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time - '

Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone had known he was being followed, except him.

"Didn't work that well, though, did it?' said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. 'Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?'

"He was so angry,' said Hermione, in an almost awestruck voice. 'Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary.'

"Well, I'm glad he left,' Harry said coldly 'If he hadn't, I wouldn't have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer.'

"Aren't you . . . aren't you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?' said Hermione quietly.

"No,' Harry lied defiantly. He walked away from them, looking around, with Hedwig nestled contentedly on his shoulder, but this room was not likely to raise his spirits. It was dank and dark. A blank stretch of canvas in an ornate picture frame was all that relieved the bareness of the peeling walls, and as Harry passed it he thought he heard someone, who was lurking out of sight, snigger.

"So why's Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?"

Harry asked, still trying hard to keep his voice casual. "Did you - er - bother to ask him at all?"

He glanced up just in time to see them exchanging a look that told him he was behaving just as they had feared he would. It did nothing to improve his temper.

"We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on," said Ron. "We did, mate. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted."

"He could still've kept me informed if he'd wanted to," Harry said shortly. "You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls."

Hermione glanced at Ron and then said, "I thought that, too. But he didn't want you to know anything."

"Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted," said Harry, watching their expressions.

"Don't be thick," said Ron, looking highly disconcerted.

"Or that I can't take care of myself."

"Of course he doesn't think that!" said Hermione anxiously.

"So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys' while you two get to join in everything that's going on here?" said Harry, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing louder with every word. "How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on?"

"We're not!" Ron interrupted. "Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young - "

But before he knew it, Harry was shouting.

"SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS' FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT - 'WHO SAVED THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?"

Every bitter and resentful thought Harry had had in the past month was pouring out of him: his frustration at the lack of news, the hurt that they had all been together without him, his fury at being followed and not told about it - all the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst their boundaries. Hedwig took flight at the noise and soared off to the top of the wardrobe again; Pigwidgeon twittered in alarm and zoomed even faster around their heads.

"WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!"

Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, whilst Hermione looked on the verge of tears.

"BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?"

"Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did - " Hermione began.

"CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR - "

"Well, he did - "

"FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON - "

"We wanted to -"

"I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER - "

"You're acting like a real brat, you know."

Harry jumped. There had been another person in the room, on the top of one of the bunk beds. Since the room was dark, he hadn't even noticed.

"Without Ron and Hermione, you would've _never_ been able to get the philosopher's stone, get rid of Riddle and all those other _heroic_ deeds you've done," the girl's ironic voice continued. It sounded strangely familiar. "You're being ungrateful of everything they have ever done for you."

When the confusion diffused, Harry started to get angry again. "This is none of your business." He said, scowling at the girl's figure. It was too dark to see her clearly, but he could swear that there was a strange gleam to her hair.

"Is it?" the girl asked, amusement clear in her voice.

Before Harry got the chance to answer, the girl leaped from the top of the bunk bed and into the light, without even using the ladder.

Her unmistakable silver hair shined in the dim light, and Harry knew why her voice sounded so familiar.

He gaped at her. She winked.

"You - your the girl from - "

She shot him a warning look, and he shut up.

"She's the girl from where?" Hermione asked quickly, grasping a chance to get off the earlier topic.

"Ah - nowhere - " Harry said quickly, but the silver-haired girl cut him off, grinning ruefully.

"I saved him from his cousin, Dudley, a couple weeks ago. He's just embarrassed that a girl handled Dudley without magic, while he couldn't.". She gave him a look, prompting him to go long with it.

"Er - yeah..." Harry said, trying to look convincing.

She probably saw that his nonexistent acting skills were failing, so she steered the story towards her. "I was outside for a walk, when I decided to go see Harry Potter myself, since I was curious. My dad taught me how to call thestrals, so after I lucked out calling one, it took me there. He wasn't home, so I walked around the neighborhood. I walked in on a situation between him and Dudley. His cousin was threatening him to beat him up, so I intervened."

"How did you know where he lived?" Ron questioned.

"I overheard with the extendable ears." she answered easily.

Now Harry was confused. "Extendable-"

"Ears, yeah." Ron finished for him. "Fred and George invented them. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realised what was going on."

"And?" Harry asked impatiently, his anger returning.

"Er,' said Ron. "And what?"

"Voldemort!" said Harry furiously, and both Ron and Hermione winced. "What's happening? What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?"

"We've told you, the Order don't let us in on their meetings," said Hermione nervously "So we don't know the details - but we've got a general idea," she added hastily, seeing the look on Harry's face.

"We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know - " Ron told him.

"Some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order - " said Hermione.

"And some of them are standing guard over something," said Ron. "They're always talking about guard duty."

"Couldn't have been me, could it?' said Harry sarcastically.

"Oh, yeah,' said Ron, with a look of dawning comprehension.

Harry snorted. He walked around the room again, looking anywhere but at Ron and Hermione. He turned his attention to the strange girl again. "You never said your name."

"I'm Terentia," she said, bowing ironically. "Terentia Black." Harry looked at her in surprise. He'd been under the impression that Sirius was the only Black left. "A Black?" he asked.

"Yup," Terentia replied, popping on the _P_. "One of the few left." Harry paused, taking in the information. Then he turned back to Ron and Hermione, remembering something.

"So, what have you two been doing, if you're not allowed in meetings?" he demanded. "You said you'd been busy."

"We have," said Hermione quickly. "We've been decontaminating this house, it's been empty for ages and stuff's been breeding in here. We've managed to clean out the kitchen, most of the bedrooms and I think we're doing the drawing room tomo- AARGH!"

With two loud cracks, Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers, had materialised out of thin air in the middle of the room. Pigwidgeon twittered more wildly than ever and zoomed off to join Hedwig on top of the wardrobe.

"Stop doing that!" Hermione said weakly to the twins, who were as vividly red-haired as Ron, though stockier and slightly shorter.

"Hello, Harry." said George, beaming at him. "We thought we heard your dulcet tones."

"You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out," said Fred, also beaming. "There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you."

"You two passed your Apparation tests, then?" asked Harry grumpily.

"With distinction," said Fred, who was holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh-coloured string.

"It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs," said Ron.

"Time is Galleons, little brother," said Fred. "Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with reception. Extendable Ears," he added in response to Harry's raised eyebrows, and held up the string which Harry now saw was trailing out on to the landing. "We're trying to hear what's going on downstairs."

"You want to be careful,' said Ron, staring at the Ear, "If Mum sees one of them again..."

"It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having," said red.

The door opened and a long mane of red hair appeared.

"Oh, hello, Harry!" said Ron's younger sister, Ginny, brightly. "I thought I heard your voice."

Turning to Fred and George, she said, "Its no-go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

"How d'you know?" said George, looking crestfallen.

"Tonks told me how to find out," said Ginny. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap."

Fred heaved a deep sigh.

"Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."

"Snape!" said Harry quickly. "Is he here?"

"Yeah," said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds; Fred and Ginny followed. Terentia climbed up on hers, disappearing again. "Giving a report. Top secret."

"Git," said Fred idly.

"He's on our side now," said Hermione reprovingly.

Ron snorted. "Doesn't stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us."

"Bill doesn't like him, either," said Ginny, as though that settled the matter.

Harry was not sure his anger had abated yet; but his thirst for information was now overcoming his urge to keep shouting. He sank on to the bed opposite the others.

"Is Bill here?" he asked. "I thought he was working in Egypt?"

"He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order," said Fred. "He says he misses the tombs, but," he smirked, "there are compensations."

"What d'you mean?"

"Remember old Fleur Delacour?" said George. "She's got a job at Gringotts to eemprove 'er Eeenglish - "

"And Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons," sniggered Fred.

"Charlie's in the Order, too," said George, "but he's still in Romania. Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off."

"Couldn't Percy do that?" Harry asked. The last he had heard, the third Weasley brother was working in the Department of International Magical Co-operation at the Ministry of Magic.

At Harry's words, all the Weasleys and Hermione exchanged darkly significant looks.

"Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad," Ron told Harry in a tense voice.

"Why not?"

"Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying," Fred said.

"It's been awful," said Ginny sadly.

"I think we're well shot of him," said George, with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.

"What's happened?" Harry said.

"Percy and Dad had a row," said Fred. "I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts."

"It was the first week back after term ended," said Ron. We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted."

"You're kidding?" said Harry.

Though he knew perfectly well that Percy was highly ambitious, Harry's impression was that Percy had not made a great success of his first job at the Ministry of Magic. Percy had committed the fairly large oversight of failing to notice that his boss was being controlled by Lord Voldemort (not that the Ministry had believed it - they all thought Mr Crouch had gone mad).

"Yeah, we were all surprised," said George, "because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realised Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain."

"So how come they promoted him?"

"That's exactly what we wondered," said Ron, who seemed very keen to keep normal conversation going now that Harry had stopped yelling. "He came home really pleased with himself - 'even more pleased than usual, if you can imagine that - and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts: Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think."

"Only Dad wasn't," said Fred grimly.

"Why not?' said Harry.

"Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore,' said George.

"Dumbledore's name is mud with the Ministry these days, see,' said Fred. They all think he's just making trouble saying You-Know-Who's back.'

"Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks,' said George.

"Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession.'

"But what's that got to do with Percy?' asked Harry, confused.

"I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family - and Dumbledore.'

Harry let out a low whistle.

"Bet Percy loved that.'

Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way.

"He went completely berserk. He said - well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been - you know - 'not had a lot of money, I mean - '

"What?' said Harry in disbelief, as Ginny made a noise like an angry cat.

"It gets worse." Terentia said, poking her head out from the top of the bunk bed. Everyone jumped. Harry had forgotten she was in the room, and by the looks of it, everyone else had too. She continued. "Percy said Mr. Weasly was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and his dad was going to go down with him, and that he - Percy - knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mrs. and Mr. Weasly were going to become traitors to the Ministry, he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family any more. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now."

Harry swore under his breath. He had always liked Percy least of Ron's brothers, but he had never imagined he would say such things to Mr Weasley.

"Mums been in a right state," said Ron dully. "You know - crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work - ignores him, I s'pose."

"But Percy must know Voldemort's back," said Harry slowly. "He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof."

"Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row," said Ron, shooting Harry a furtive look. "Percy said the only evidence was your word and . . . I dunno . . . he didn't think it was good enough."

"Percy takes the Daily Prophet seriously," said Hermione tartly, and the others all nodded.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, looking around at them all. They were all regarding him warily.

"Haven't - haven't you been getting the Daily Prophet?" Hermione asked nervously.

"Yeah, I have!" said Harry.

"Have you - er - been reading it thoroughly?" Hermione asked, still more anxiously.

"Not cover to cover," said Harry defensively. "If they were going to report anything about Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it?"

The others flinched at the sound of the name. Hermione hurried on, "Well, you'd need to read it cover to cover to pick it up, but they - um - they mention you a couple of times a week."

"But I'd have seen - "

"Not if you've only been reading the front page, you wouldn't," said Hermione, shaking her head. "I'm not talking about big articles. They just slip you in, like you're a standing joke."

"What d'you - ?"

"It's quite nasty, actually," said Hermione in a voice of forced calm. "They're just building on Rita's stuff."

"But she's not writing for them any more, is she?"

"Oh, no, she's kept her promise - not that she's got any choice," Hermione added with satisfaction. "But she laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now."

"Which is what?" said Harry impatiently.

"OK, you know she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying your scar was hurting and all that?"

"Yeah," said Harry, who was not likely to forget Rita Skeeter's stories about him in a hurry.

"Well, they're writing about you as though you're this deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks he's a great tragic hero or something," said Hermione, very fast, as though it would be less unpleasant for Harry to hear these facts quickly. "They keep slipping in snide comments about you. If some far-fetched story appears, they say something like, _A tale worthy of Harry Potter_, and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's, _Let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next_ - "

"I don't want anyone to worship - " Harry began hotly.

"I know you don't," said Hermione quickly, looking frightened. "I know, Harry. But you see what they're doing? They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I'll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you're just some stupid boy who's a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because he loves being famous and wants to keep it going."

"I didn't ask - I didn't want - Voldemort killed my parents!" Harry spluttered. "I got famous because he murdered my family but couldn't kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don't they think I'd rather it'd never- "

"We _know_, Potter." Terentia drawled, rolling her eyes. "Don't you think it's a bit obvious?"

"And of course, they didn't report a word about the Dementors attacking you," said Hermione. "Someone's told them to keep that quiet. That should've been a really big story, out-of-control Dementors. They haven't even reported that you broke the International Statute of Secrecy. We thought they would, it would be in so well with this image of you as some stupid show-off. We think they're biding their time until you're expelled, then they're really going to go to town - I mean, if you're expelled, obviously," she went on hastily. "You really shouldn't be, not if they abide by their own laws, there's no case against you."

They were back on the hearing and Harry did not want to think about that. He cast around for another change of subject, but was saved the necessity of finding one by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Uh oh."

Fred gave the Extendable Ear a hearty tug; there was another loud crack and he and George vanished. Seconds later, Mrs Weasley appeared in the bedroom doorway.

"The meetings over, you can come down and have dinner now. Everyone's dying to see you, Harry. And who's left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?"

"Crookshanks," said Ginny unblushingly. "He loves playing with them."

"Oh," said Mrs Weasley, "I thought it might have been Kreacher, he keeps doing odd things like that. Now don't forget to keep your voices down in the hall. Ginny, your hands are filthy, what have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner, please."

Ginny grimaced at the others and followed her mother out of the room, leaving Harry alone with Ron and Hermione. Both of them were watching him apprehensively, as though they feared he would start shouting again now that everyone else had gone. The sight of them looking so nervous made him feel slightly ashamed.

"Look..." he muttered, but Ron shook his head, and Hermione said quietly, "We knew you'd be angry, Harry, we really don't blame you, but you've got to understand, we did try to persuade Dumbledore - "

"Yeah, I know," said Harry shortly.

He cast around for a topic that didn't involve his headmaster, because the very thought of Dumbledore made Harry's insides burn with anger again.

"Who's Kreacher?" he asked.

"The house-elf who lives here."

Terentia. She likes sneaking up on people, Harry noticed.

"Yeah," Ron added. "Nutter. Never met one like him."

Hermione frowned at Ron.

"He's not a nutter, Ron."

"His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on plaque just like his mother," said Ron irritably. "Is that normal, Hermione?"

"Well - well, if he is a bit strange, it's not his fault."

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry.

"Hermione still hasn't given up on SPEW."

"It's not SPEW!" said Hermione heatedly. "It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. And it's not just me, Dumbledore says we should be kind to Kreacher too."

"Yeah, yeah," said Ron. 'C'mon, I'm starving."

Just as Hermione got up, Terentia jumped off the bunk bed right beside Hermione. The bushy-haired girl gave a shriek and fell back on the bed.

"Terentia, stop doing that!" she squeaked. Ron stiffled a laugh. He led the way out of the door and on to the landing, but before they could descend the stairs -

"Hold it!" Ron breathed, flinging out an arm to stop Harry and Hermione walking any further. "They're still in the hall, we might be able to hear something."

The three of them looked cautiously over the banisters. The gloomy hallway below was packed with witches and wizards, including all of Harry's guard. They were whispering excitedly together. In the very center of the group Harry saw the dark, greasy-haired head and prominent nose of his least favourite teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape. Harry leant further over the banisters. He was very interested in what Snape was doing for the Order of the Phoenix . . .

A thin piece of flesh-coloured string descended in front of Harry's eyes. Looking up, he saw Fred and George on the landing above, cautiously lowering the Extendable Ear towards the dark knot of people below. A moment later, however, they all began to move towards the front door and out of sight.

"Dammit," Harry heard Fred whisper, as he hoisted the Extendable Ear back up again.

They heard the front door open, then close.

"Snape never eats here," Ron told Harry quietly. "Thank God. C'mon."

"And don't forget to keep your voice down in the hall, Harry," Hermione whispered.

As they passed the row of house-elf heads on the wall, they saw Lupin, Mrs Weasley and Tonks at the front door, magically sealing its many locks and bolts behind those who had just left.

"We're eating down in the kitchen," Mrs Weasley whispered, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs. "Harry, dear, if you'll just tiptoe across the hall it's through this door here - "

CRASH.

"Tonks!" cried Mrs Weasley in exasperation, turning to look behind her.

"I'm sorry!" wailed Tonks, who was lying flat on the floor. "It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second time I've tripped over - "

But the rest of her words were drowned by a horrible, ear-splitting, blood-curdling screech.

The moth-eaten velvet curtains Harry had passed earlier had flown apart, but there was no door behind them. For a split second, Harry thought he was looking through a window, a window behind which an old woman in a black cap was screaming and screaming as though she were being tortured - then he realised it was simply a life-size portrait, but the most realistic, and the most unpleasant, he had ever seen in his life.

The old woman was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed; and all along the hall behind them, the other portraits awoke and began to yell, too, so that Harry actually screwed up his eyes at the noise and clapped his hands over his ears.

Lupin and Mrs Weasley darted forward and tried to tug the curtains shut over the old woman, but they would not close and she screeched louder than ever, brandishing clawed hands as though trying to tear at their faces.

"Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers - "

Tonks apologised over and over again, dragging the huge, heavy troll's leg back off the floor; Mrs Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits with her wand; and a man with long black hair came charging out of a door facing Harry.

"Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!" he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs Weasley had abandoned.

The old woman's face blanched.

"Yoooou!" she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. "Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!"

"I said - shut - UP!" roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force the curtains closed again. The whole time, Terentia was casually leaning on the wall, watching with subdued interest.

The old woman's screeches died and an echoing silence tell. Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Harry's godfather Sirius turned to face him.

"Hello, Harry," he said grimly, "I see you've met my mother."

**A/U - This mostly belongs to J. K. Rowling. Hope you liked it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N - I'm probably going to write more from Terentia's POV from now on.**

_Recap:_

_Tonks apologised over and over again, dragging the huge, heavy troll's leg back off the floor; Mrs Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits with her wand; and a man with long black hair came charging out of a door facing Harry._

_"Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!" he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs Weasley had abandoned._

_The old woman's face blanched._

_"Yoooou!" she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. "Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!"_

_"I said - shut - UP!" roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force the curtains closed again. The whole time, Terentia was casually leaning on the wall, watching with subdued interest._

_The old woman's screeches died and an echoing silence tell. Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Harry's godfather Sirius turned to face him._

_"Hello, Harry," he said grimly, "I see you've met my mother."_

* * *

"Your - ?" Harry started, and I could understand him. I was glad that I wasn't _really_ related to that sniveling hag.

"My dear old mum, yeah," said Sirius. "We've been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent. Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Lets get downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again."

"But what's a portrait of your mother doing here?" Harry asked, bewildered, as they went through the door from the hall and led the way down a flight of narrow stone steps, me and the others just behind them. I guessed nobody bothered telling him.

"Hasn't anyone told you? This was my parents' house," said Sirius. 'But I'm the last Black left, so it's mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for Headquarters - about the only useful thing I've been able to do."

I heard a bitter note in his voice, and by the look of his face, Harry did too.

It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of them, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr Weasley and his eldest son Bill were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table.

Ah, I'm being a horrible storyteller. I forgot to tell you how I even got here. When the guardians dropped me off, they came in briefly to plant fake memories about me in everyone's heads that were in the Order, or knew about the Order. They made them think that I was here for weeks, ever since my father, who was Alphard Black, died. My mother died when I was little. All the less work for me.

Mrs Weasley cleared her throat, snapping me out of my musings. Her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired man who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet.

"Harry!" Mr. Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him, and shaking his hand vigorously. "Good to see you!"

I noticed that Bill, who still wore his long hair in a ponytail, was hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table. I tried to inch that way unnoticed.

They were some sort of plans of a building, but Mrs. Weasley saw me looking and snatched the plans off the table and stuffed it into Bill's already overladen arms.

"Journey all right, Harry?' Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. 'Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?'

"He tried," said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately toppling a candle on to the last piece of parchment. "Oh no - sorry - " I grinned. From all of the Order, Tonks and Sirius were the funnest.

"Here, dear," said Mrs Weasley, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand.

This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings," she snapped, before sweeping off towards an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates.

Bill took out his wand, muttered, "_Evanesce!_" and the scrolls vanished.

"Sit down, Harry," said Sirius. "You've met Mundungus, haven't you?"

The heap of rags gave a long, piggish snore and jerked awake. Mundungus.

"Some'n say m'name?' Mundungus mumbled sleepily. 'I agree with Sirius . . .' He raised a grubby hand in the air as though voting, his droopy, bloodshot eyes unfocused.

Ginny giggled.

"The meeting's over, Dung," said Sirius, as they all sat down around him at the table. "Harry's arrived."

"Eh?' said Mundungus, peering balefully at Harry through his matted ginger hair. "Blimey, so 'e 'as. Yeah . . . you all right, 'Airy?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

Mundungus fumbled nervously in his pockets, still staring at Harry, and pulled out a grimy black pipe. He stuck it in his mouth, ignited the end of it with his wand and took a deep pull on it. Great billowing clouds of greenish smoke obscured him within seconds. I started choking almost immediately. I could never stand these sort of things.

"Owe you a 'pology,' grunted a voice from the middle of the smelly cloud.

"For the last time, Mundungus," called Mrs Weasley, "Will you please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we're about to eat! Terentia, are you alright?" she added worriedly.

" I'm - fine - " I tried to say in the midst of coughing. I took my shirt up to my mouth and breathed through it. A bit better.

"Ah," said Mundungus. "Right. Sorry, Molly."

The cloud of smoke vanished as Dung stowed his pipe back in his pocket, but an acrid smell of burning socks lingered.

"And if you want dinner before midnight I'll need a hand," Mrs Weasley said to the room at large. "No, you can stay where you are, Harry dear, you've had a long journey."

"What can I do, Molly?" said Tonks enthusiastically, bounding forwards. I smirked.

Mrs Weasley hesitated, looking apprehensive.

"Er - no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today." Now I just couldn't help it. I laughed. Thankfully, nobody heard me.

"No, no, I want to help!' said Tonks brightly, knocking over a chair as she hurried towards the dresser, from which Ginny was collecting cutlery.

Soon, a series of heavy knives were chopping meat and vegetables of their own accord, supervised by Mr Weasley, while Mrs Weasley stirred a cauldron dangling over the fire and me and the others took out plates, more goblets and food from the pantry. Harry was left at the table with Sirius and Mundungus, who was still blinking at him mournfully. They were talking about someone named Mrs. Figg.

I felt something brush against his knees and started, but it was only Crookshanks, Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, who hissed at me. I hissed right back. Of all animals, cats I hated most. Crookshanks jumped on to Sirius's lap and curled up. Sirius scratched him absent-mindedly behind the ears as he turned, still grim-faced, to Harry. I tuned into their conversation.

"Had a good summer so far?"

"No, it's been lousy," said Harry.

Something like a grin flitted across Sirius's face.

"Don't know what you're complaining about, myself."

"What?" said Harry incredulously.

"Personally, I'd have welcomed a Dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights . . . I've been stuck inside for a month."

"How come?" asked Harry, frowning.

"Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, so my big disguise is useless. There's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix . . . or so Dumbledore feels." He said Dumbledore's name witha slightly flattened tone, hinting that he was not at all happy with the Headmaster.

"At least you've known what's been going on," he said bracingly.

"Oh yeah," said Sirius sarcastically. "Listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time . . . asking me how the cleaning's going - "

"What cleaning?" asked Harry.

Trying to make this place fit for human habitation," said Sirius, waving a hand around the dismal kitchen. "No one's lived here for ten years, not since my dear mother died, unless you count her old house-elf, and he's gone round the twist - hasn't cleaned anything in ages."

"Sirius," said Mundungus, who did not appear to have paid any attention to the conversation, but had been closely examining an empty goblet. "This solid silver, mate?"

"Yes," said Sirius, surveying it with distaste. "Finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest."

"That'd come orf, though," muttered Mundungus, polishing it with his cuff.

"Fred - George - NO, JUST CARRY THEM!' Mrs Weasley shrieked.

Harry, Sirius, Mundungus and I looked around and, within a split second, dived away from the table. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of Butterbeer and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air towards them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface; the flagon of Butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere; the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius's right hand had been seconds before."FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" screamed Mrs Weasley. "THERE WAS NO NEED - I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS - JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW, YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!"

"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" said Fred, hurrying forward to wrench the bread knife out of the table. 'Sorry, Sirius, mate - didn't mean to - '

Harry Sirius and I were laughing; Mundungus, who had toppled backwards off his chair, was now swearing as he got to his feet; Crookshanks had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, from where his large yellow eyes glowed in the darkness. I glared at him.

"Boys," Mr Weasley said, lifting the stew back into the middle of the table, "your mother's right, you re supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age - "

"None of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!" Mrs Weasley raged at the twins as she slammed a fresh flagon of Butterbeer on lo the table, and spilling almost as much again. "Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't charm everything he met! Percy - "

She stopped dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband, whose expression was suddenly wooden.

"Let's eat,' said Bill quickly.

"It looks wonderful, Molly,' said Lupin, ladling stew on to a plate for her and handing it across the table.

For a few minutes there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food. Then Mrs Weasley turned to Sirius.

"I've been meaning to tell you, Sirius, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a Boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out.'

"Whatever you like,' said Sirius indifferently.

"The curtains in there are full of Doxys, too," Mrs Weasley went on. "I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow."

"I look forward to it,' said Sirius. I heard the sarcasm in his voice, but I wasn't sure that anyone else did.

Opposite Harry, Tonks was entertaining Hermione and Ginny by transforming her nose between mouthfuls. Screwing up her eyes each time with the same pained expression she had worn back in Harry's bedroom, her nose swelled to a beak-like protuberance that resembled Snape's, shrank to the size of a button mushroom and then sprouted a great deal of hair from each nostril. Apparently this was a regular mealtime entertainment, because Hermione and Ginny were soon requesting their favourite noses.

"Do that one like a pig snout, Tonks."

Tonks obliged, and looking up, I had the fleeting impression that a female Dudley was grinning at him from across the table.

"Hey, I was wondering, instead of Disilusioning yourself, can't you make yourself like a chamelion?" I asked. Tonks looked at me, surprised. "I've never tried, but I will now. Thanks for the idea."

Mr. Weasley, Bill and Lupin were having an intense discuss on about goblins.

"They're not giving anything away yet," said Bill. "I still can't work out whether or not they believe he's back. Course, they might prefer not to take sides at all. Keep out of it."

"I'm sure they'd never go over to You-Know-Who," said Mr Weasley, shaking his head. "They've suffered losses too; remember that goblin family he murdered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?"

"I think it depends what they're offered," said Lupin. "And I'm not talking about gold. If they're offered the freedoms we've been denying them for centuries they're going to be tempted. Have you still not had any luck with Ragnok, Bill?"

"He's feeling pretty anti-wizard at the moment," said Bill, "He hasn't stopped raging about the Bagman business, he reckons the Ministry did a cover-up, those goblins never got their gold from him, you know - "

A gale of laughter from the middle of the table drowned the rest of Bill's words. Fred, George, Ron and Mundungus were rolling around in their seats.

" ...and then," choked Mundungus, tears running down his face, "And then, if you'll believe it, 'e says to me, 'e says, 'Ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? 'Cos some son of a Sludger's gone and nicked all mine!' And I says, 'Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?' And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all 'is own toads back orf me for a lot more'n what 'e paid in the first place - " I rolled my eyes. This guy doesn't have a life.

"I don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus," said Mrs Weasley sharply, as Ron slumped forwards on to the table, howling with laughter.

"Beg pardon, Molly," said Mundungus at once, wiping his eyes and winking at Harry. "But, you know, Will nicked 'em orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing nothing wrong."

"I don't know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons," said Mrs Weasley coldly.

Fred and George buried their faces in their goblets of Butterbeer; George was hiccupping. For some reason, Mrs Weasley threw a very nasty look at Sirius before getting to her feet and going to fetch a large rhubarb crumble for pudding. I knew why. Dung is useful because he knows all the crooks (probably because _he's_ one) and hears stuff we don't. In addition, he's loyal to Dumbledore, since he helped him once. But Mrs. Weasley thinks inviting him to stay for dinner is going too far. She hasn't forgiven him for slipping off duty when he was supposed to be tailing Potter.

I was silent as the others talked listening in. There was a lull in the general conversation: Mr Weasley was leaning back in his chair, looking replete and relaxed; Tonks was yawning widely, her nose now back to normal; and Ginny, who had lured Crookshanks out from under the dresser, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling Butterbeer corks for him to chase.

"Nearly time for bed, I think," said Mrs. Weasley with a yawn.

"Not just yet, Molly," said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. "You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

The atmosphere in the room changed with the rapidly. Where seconds before it had been sleepily relaxed, it was now alert, even tense. A frisson had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name. Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary.

"I did!" said Harry indignantly. "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so - "

"And they're quite right," said Mrs Weasley. "You're too young."

She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched an its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asked Sirius. "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen-"

"Hang on!' interrupted George loudly.

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" said Fred angrily.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!" said George.

" 'You're too young, you're not in the Order,' " said Fred, in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. "Harry's not even of age!"

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing," said Sirius calmly, "that's your parents' decision. Harry, on the other hand - "

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!' said Mrs Weasley sharply. The expression on her normally kind face looked dangerous. 'You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?'

"Which bit?' Sirius asked politely, but with the air of a man readying himself for a fight.

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know," said Mrs Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.

Ron, Hermione, Fred and Georges heads swivelled from Sirius to Mrs Weasley as though they were following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned Butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin's eyes were fixed on Sirius.

"Sirius won't tell him more than he needs to know," I said. Again, everyone started. What is up with these people? "No offense, Mrs. Weasley, but he's got more right to know what's going on than you. Besides, Sirius is his legal guardian and can tell him whatever he wants to."

"Terentia's right," Lupin agreed quietly. "Personally, I think it better that Harry gets the facts - not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture - from us, rather than a garbled version from . . . others." His expression was mild, but I was sure that Lupin, at least, knew that some Extendable Ears had survived Mrs Weasley's purge.

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!' said Mrs Weasley. 'He's only fifteen and - '

"And he's dealt with as much as most in the Order," said Sirius, "And more than some."

"No one's denying what he's done!" said Mrs Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. "But he's still - "

"He's not a child!" said Sirius impatiently.

"He's not an adult either!' said Mrs Weasley, the colour rising in her cheeks. "He's not James, Sirius!"

"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly," said Sirius coldly.

"I'm not sure you are!"said Mrs Weasley. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

"What's wrong with that?" said Harry.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!" said Mrs Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. "You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!"

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?' demanded Sirius, his voice rising.

"Meaning you have been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and - "

"We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!' said Sirius loudly.

"Arthur!' said Mrs Weasley rounding on her husband. 'Arthur, back me up!"

Mr Weasley did not speak at once. He took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his robes, not looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them carefully on his nose did he reply.

"Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in, to a certain extent, now that he is staying at Headquarters."

She paused.

"Well," said Mrs Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, "well . . . I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry's best interests at heart -"

"He's not your son," said Sirius quietly.

"He's as good as," said Mrs Weasley fiercely. "Who else has he got?"

"He's got me!"

"Yes," said Mrs Weasley, her lip curling, "the thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

Sirius started to rise from his chair.

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," said Lupin sharply. "Sirius, sit down."

Mrs Weasleys lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair, his face white.

"I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this," Lupin continued, "he's old enough to decide for himself."

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry said at once.

He did not look at Mrs Weasley. He had been touched by what she had said about his being as good as a son, but he was also impatient with her mollycoddling. Sirius was right, he was not a child.

"Very well,' said Mrs Weasley, her voice cracking. "Ginny - Ron - Hermione - Fred - George - Terentia - I want you out of this kitchen, now."

There was instant uproar. I decided to slink off to a corner while they were distracted. I chose the drarkest one, which was luckily the closest. Nobody noticed. Meanwhile, the others protested.

"We're of age!" Fred and George bellowed together.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" shouted Ron.

"Mum, I want to hear!" wailed Ginny

"NO!" shouted Mrs Weasley, standing up, her eyes over-bright. "I absolutely forbid - "

"Molly you can't stop Fred and George," said Mr Weasley wearily. "They _are_ of age."

"They're still at school."

"But they're legally adults now," said Mr Weasley, in the same tired voice.

Mrs Weasley was now scarlet in the face.

"I - oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron - "

'Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!" said Ron hotly. "Won't - won't you?" he added uncertainly, meeting Harry's eyes.

For a split second, Harry considered telling Ron that he wouldn't tell him a single word, that he could try a taste of being kept in the dark and see how he liked it. But the nasty impulse vanished as they looked at each other.

"Course I will," Harry said.

Ron and Hermione beamed.

"Fine!" shouted Mrs Weasley. "Fine! Ginny - BED!"

Ginny did not go quietly. They could hear her raging and storming at her mother all the way up the stairs, and when she reached the hall Mrs Blacks ear-splitting shrieks were added to the din. Lupin hurried off to the portrait: to restore calm. It was only after he had returned, closing the kitchen door behind him and taking his seat at the table again, that Sirius spoke.

"OK, Harry . . . what do you want to know?"

Harry took a deep breath and asked the question that had obsessed him for the last month.

"Where's Voldemort?" he said, ignoring the renewed shudders and winces at the name. "What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the Muggle news, and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything." No, no, no! Those are not the right questions!

"That's because there haven't been any funny deaths yet," said Sirius, "Not as far as we know, anyway . . . and we know quite a lot."

"More than he thinks we do, anyway," said Lupin.

"How come he's stopped killing people?" Harry asked. He knew Voldemort had murdered more than once in the last year alone.

"Because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself," said Sirius. "It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up."

"Or rather, you messed it up for him," said Lupin, with a satisfied smile.

"How?" Harry asked, perplexed. Wow. He really was dim.

"You weren't supposed to survive!" said Sirius. "Nobody apart from his Death Eaters was supposed to know he'd come back. But you survived to bear witness."

"And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore,' said Lupin. 'And you made sure Dumbledore knew at once."

"How has that helped?" Harry asked.

"Are you kidding?" said Bill incredulously. "Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of!"

"Thanks to you, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned," said Sirius.

"So, what's the Order been doing?" said Harry, looking around at them all.

"Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans," said Sirius.

'"How d'you know what his plans are?" Harry asked quickly.

"Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea," said Lupin, "And Dumbledore's shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate."

"So what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?"

"Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again," said Sirius. "In the old days he had huge numbers at his command: witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. You heard him planning to recruit the giants; well, they'll be just one of the groups he's after. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters."

"So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?"

'We're doing our best," said Lupin.

"How?"

"Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard," said Bill. "It's proving tricky, though."

"Why?" Ugh, his questions are getting stupider and stupider.

"Because of the Ministry's attitude," said Tonks. "You saw Cornelius Fudge after You-Know-Who came back, Harry. Well, he hasn't shifted his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe it's happened."

"But why?' said Harry desperately. 'Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore - "

"Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem," said Mr Weasley with a wry smile. "Dumbledore."

"Fudge is frightened of him, you see," said Tonks sadly.

"Frightened of Dumbledore?" said Harry incredulously.

"Frightened of what he's up to," said Mr Weasley. "Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister for Magic."

"But Dumbledore doesn't want - "

"Of course he doesn't,' said Mr Weasley. 'He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job."

"Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore's much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice," said Lupin. "But it seems he's become fond of power, and much more confident. He loves being Minister for Magic and he's m; n-aged to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it."

"How can he think that?" said Harry angrily. "How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up - that I'd make it all up?"

"Because accepting that Voldermort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years," said Sirius bitterly. "Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore's lying to destabilise him."

"You see the problem," said Lupin. "While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumour-mongering, so most of the wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse."

"But you're telling people, aren't you?" said Harry, looking around at Mr Weasley, Sirius, Bill, Mundungus, Lupin and Tonks. "You're letting people know he's back?"

They all smiled humourlessly.

"Well, as everyone thinks I'm a mad mass-murderer and the Ministry's put a ten thousand Galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing out leaflets, can I?" said Sirius restlessly.

"And I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community," said Lupin. "It's an occupational hazard of being a werewolf."

"Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off,' said Sirius, 'and it's very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them."

"We've managed to convince a couple of people, though," said Mr Weasley. "Tonks here, for one - she's too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage - Kingsley Shacklebolt's been a real asset, too; he's in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he's been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet."

"But if none of you are putting the news out that Voldemort's back - " Harry began.

"Who said none of us are putting the news out?" said Sirius. "Why d'you think Dumbledore's in such trouble?"

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.

"They're trying to discredit him," said Lupin. "Didn't you see the Daily Prophet last week? They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true; he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot - that's the Wizard High Court - and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too."

"But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog Cards," said Bill, grinning.

"It's no laughing matter," said Mr Weasley sharply. "If he carries on defying the Ministry like this he could end up in Azkaban, and the last thing we want is to have Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to he's going to go cautiously. If Dumbledore's out of the way - well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field."

"But if Voldemort's trying to recruit more Death Eaters it's bound to get out that he's come back, isn't it?" asked Harry desperately.

"Voldemort doesn't march up to people's houses and bang on their front doors, Harry," said Sirius. "He tricks, jinxes and blackmails them. He's well-practised at operating in secret. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he's interested in. He's got other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he's concentrating on those for the moment."

"What's he after apart from followers?" Harry asked swiftly. He thought he saw Sirius and Lupin exchange the most fleeting of looks before Sirius answered.

"Stuff he can only get by stealth."

When Harry continued to look puzzled, Sirius said, "Like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time."

"When he was powerful before?"

"Yes."

"Like what kind of weapon?" said Harry. "Something worse than the Avada Kedavra - ?"

"That's enough!"

Mrs Weasley spoke from beside the door. She had returned from taking Ginny upstairs and was watching like a hawk. Her arms were crossed and she looked furious.

"I want you in bed, now. All of you," she added, looking around at Fred, George, Ron and Hermione.

"You can't boss us - " Fred began.

"Watch me,' snarled Mrs Weasley. She was trembling slightly as she looked at Sirius. "You've given Harry plenty of information. Any more and you might just as well induct him into the Order straightaway."

"Why not?' said Harry quickly. 'I'll join, I want to join, I want to fight." It was moments like this when I wanted to bang my head against the wall.

"No."

It was not Mrs Weasley who spoke this time, but Lupin.

The Order is comprised only of overage wizards," he said. 'Wizards who have left school,' he added, as Fred and George opened their mouths. There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea, any of you . . . I think Molly's right, Sirius. We've said enough."

Sirius half-shrugged but did not argue. Mrs Weasley beckoned imperiously to her sons and Hermione. One by one they stood up, and I took that as my cue to get out of my hiding place.

"Terentia!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed with a shocked expression on her face. How did you - "

"Never mind that," Sirius said quickly, and when she looked away, he winked at me. I smiled. I guess I didn't pass unnoticed, then.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, George came into our room, yelling, "Mum says get up, your breakfast is in the kitchen and then she needs you in the drawing room. There are loads more Doxys than she thought and she's found a nest of dead Puffskeins under the sofa."

Half an hour later Harry, Ron, Hermine and I, who had dressed and breakfasted quickly, entered the drawing room, a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. It was aroand these that Mrs Weasley, Ginny, Fred and George were grouped, all looking rather peculiar as they had each tied a cloth over their nose and mouth. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end

"Cover your faces and take a spray,' Mrs Weasley said to us the moment she saw us, pointing to four more bottles of black liquid standing on a spindle-legged table. 'It's Doxycide. I've never seen an infestation this bad - what that house-elf's Veen doing for the last ten years - '

Hermione's face was half concealed by a tea towel I saw her throw a reproachful look at Mrs Weasley.

"Kreachers really old, he probably couldn't manage - "

"You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wnnts to, Hermione," said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats. "I've just been feeding Buckbeak," he added, in reply to Potter's enquiring look. "I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway . . . this writing desk . . ."

He dropped the bag of rats into an armchair, then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which was shaking slightly.

"Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a Boggart," said Sirius, peering through the keyhole, "but perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shifty at it before we let it out - knowing my mother, it could be something much worse."

"Right you are, Sirius," said Mrs Weasley.

They were both speaking in carefully light, polite voices that told me plainly that neither had forgotten their arguement of the night before.

A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails that had been triggered the previous night by Tonks knocking over the umbrella stand.

"I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!" said Sirius exasperatedly, hurrying out of the room. They heard him thundering clown the stairs as Mrs Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more:

"Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of flith . . ."

"Close the door, please, Terentia," said Mrs Weasley.

I took as much time as I dared to close the drawing-room door; I wanted to listen to what was going on downstairs. Sirius had obviously managed to shut the curtains over his mothers portrait because she had stopped screaming. He heard Sirius walking down the hall, then the clattering of the chain on the front door, and then a deep voice I recognised as Kingsley Shacklebolt's saying, Hestia's just relieved me, so she's got Moody's Cloak now, thought I'd leave a report for Dumbledore . . .'

Feeling Mrs Weasley's eyes on the back of his head, I regretfully closed the drawing-room door and rejoined the Doxy party.

Mrs Weasley was bending over to check the page on Doxies in Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests, which was lying open on the sofa.

"Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because Doxy's bite and their teeth are poisonous. I've got a bottle of antidote here, but I'd rather nobody needed it."

She straightened up, positioned herself squarely in front of the curtains and beckoned them all forward.

"When I say the word, start spraying immediately," she said. "They'll come flying out at us, I expect, but it says on the sprays one good squirt will paralyse them. When they're immobilized, just throw them in this bucket."

She stepped carefully out of their line of fire, and raised her own spray.

"All right - squirt!"

I had been spraying only a moment when dozens of fully-grown Doxies came soaring out of a fold in the material right at me, shiny beetle-like wings whirring, tiny needle-sharp teeth bared, their fairy-like bodies covered with thick black hair and their tiny fists clenched with fury. I tried to spray at all of them, but I also couldn't reveal my supernatural speed, so I got covered with surprisingly big bites that bled a lot. Everyone started spraying towards me, and with their help, I was soon surrounded with a circle of immobilized Doxies at my feet.

"Terentia, dear, are you alright -" She gasped when she saw me. "Oh, you're covered with bites! I'll get the antidote -"

"No point," I said through gritted teeth. The bites stung quite a lot. "Wait until we're finished."

Of course, she started protesting, but then the Doxies continued attacking, and she was forced to continue the job.

"Fred, what are you doing?" said Mrs Weasley sharply. "Spray that at once and throw it away!"

I looked round. Fred was holding a struggling Doxy between his forefinger and thumb.

"Right-o," Fred said brightly, spraying the Doxy quickly in the face so that it fainted, but the moment Mrs Weasley's back was turned he pocketed it with a wink.

"We want to experiment with Doxy venom for our Skiving Snackboxes," Fred told me under his breath. I grinned. I often helped them with the joke stuff. "Call me when you start, okay?"

"Sure thing," he answered, smirking.

I saw Harry move closer to George and mutter out of the corner of his mouth, "What are Skiving Snackboxes?"

"Range of sweets to make you ill," George whispered, keeping a wary eye on Mrs Weasley's back. "Not seriously ill, mind, just ill enough to get you out of a class when you feel like it. Fred and I have been developing them this summer. They're double-ended, colour-coded chews. If you eat the orange half of the Puking Pastilles, you throw up. Moment you've been rushed out of the lesson for the hospital wing, you swallow the purple half -"

"Which restores you to full fitness, enabling you to pursue the leisure activity of your own choice during an hour that would otherwise have been devoted to unprofitable boredom.' That's what we're putting in the adverts, anyway," Fred added, who had edged over out of Mrs Weasley's line of vision with me and was now sweeping a few stray Doxys from the floor and adding them to his pocket. "But they still need a bit of work. At the moment our testers are having a bit of trouble stopping themselves puking long enough to swallow the purple end."

"Testers?", Potter asked.

"Us," I said. "Me, Fred and George. We take it in turns. George did the Fainting Fancies - we all tried the Nosebleed Nougat - "

"Mum thought we'd been duelling," said George.

"Joke shop still on, then?" Harry muttered, pretending to be adjusting the nozzle on his spray.

"Well, we haven't had a chance to get premises yet," said Fred, dropping his voice even lower as Mrs Weasley mopped her brow with her scarf before returning to the attack, "so we're running it as a mail-order service at the moment. We put advertisements in the Daily Prophet last week."

"All thanks to you, mate,' said George. "But don't worry . . . Mum hasn't got a clue. She won't read the Daily Prophet any more, 'cause of it telling lies about you and Dumbledore."

The Weasleys had told me what happened - Harry had forced the Weasley twins to take the thousand Galleons prize money he had won in the Triwizard Tournament to help them realise their ambition to open a joke shop, but I bet he was still glad to know that his part in furthering their plans was unknown to Mrs Weasley. She definitely didn't think running a joke shop was an eligible career for two of her sons.

The de-Doxying of the curtains took most of the morning. It was past midday when Mrs Weasley finally removed her protective scarf, sank into a sagging armchair and sprang up again with a cry of disgust, having sat on the bag of dead rats. The curtains were no longer buzzing; they hung limp and damp from the intensive spraying. At the foot of them unconscious Doxys lay crammed in the bucket beside a bowl of their black eggs, at which Crook-shanks was now sniffing and Fred and George were shooting covetous looks.

"I think we'll tackle those after lunch." Mrs Weasley pointed at the dusty glass-fronted cabinets standing on either side of the mantelpiece. They were crammed with an odd assortment of objects: a selection of rusty daggers, claws, a coiled snakeskin, a number of tarnished silver boxes inscribed with languages I couldn't understand and, last of all, an ornate crystal bottle with a large opal set into the stopper, full of what looked like blood.

By then, I was covered with blood. None of the bites had even begun to heal, which surprised me. I usually healed very quickly. Must be the poison.

My skin was deathly pale, and I felt really hot, but was shivering. "Um, Mrs. Weasley," I said weakly. "Can I get the antidote now?"

"Ah, of course, dear! I completely forgot!" She bustled over to the couch and took the antidote. "Drink this, you'll feel much better."

She was right. The heat drained away from me, and I stopped shivering. The bites started crusting over, but the stinging stayed.

"Huh," Mrs. Weasley said."They should've healed by now." I suspected why. Since I was a demigod, spells don't affect me. Potions probably don't, either.

"Well, I'll just heal them with a spell, then," she said and took her wand out.

"No need," I said hastily."I'll just go upstairs to rest."

She looked like she might object, but the doorbell rang. Everyone looked at Mrs Weasley.

"Stay here," she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats as Mrs Black's screeches started up again from down below. "I'll bring up some sandwiches."

She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. At once, everyone but me dashed over to the window to look down on the doorstep. I was still a bit dizzy from the Doxy bites.

"Mundungus!" said Hermione. "What's he brought all those cauldrons for?"

"Probably looking for a safe place to keep them," said Harry. "Isn't that what he was doing the night he was supposed to be tailing me? Picking up dodgy cauldrons?"

"Yeah, you're right!" said Fred, as the front door opened; Mundungus heaved his cauldrons through it and disappeared from view. "Blimey, Mum won't like that . . ."

He and George crossed to the door and stood beside it, listening closely. Mrs Black's screaming had stopped.

"Mundungus is talking to Sirius and Kingsley," Fred muttered, frowning with concentration. "Can't hear properly . . . d'you reckon we can risk the Extendable Ears?"

"Might be worth it," said George. "I could sneak upstairs and get a pair - "

But at that precise moment there was an explosion of sound from downstairs that rendered Extendable Ears unnecessary. All of them could hear exactly what Mrs Weasley was shouting at the top of her voice.

"WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!"

"I love hearing Mum shouting at someone else," said Fred, with a satisfied smile on his face as he opened the door an inch or so to allow Mrs Weasley's voice to permeate the room better, "It makes such a nice change."

" - COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE, AS IF WE HAVEN'T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE - "

"The idiots are letting her get into her stride," said George, shaking his head. "You've got to head her off early otherwise she builds up a head of steam and goes on for hours. And she's been dying to have a go at Mundungus ever since he sneaked off when he was supposed to be following you, Harry - and there goes Sirius's mum again."

Mrs Weasley's voice was lost amid fresh shrieks and screams from the portraits in the hall.

George made to shut the door to drown the noise, but before he could do so, Kreacher edged into the room.

Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, he was completely naked. He looked very old. His skin seemed to be several times too big for him and, though he was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of his large, batlike ears. His eyes were a bloodshot and watery grey and is fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike.

The elf took absolutely no notice of Harry and the rest. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, towards the far end of the room, all the while muttering under its breath in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's.

". . . smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my mistress's house, oh, my poor mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let into her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh, the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do . . ."

"Hello, Kreacher," said Fred very loudly, closing the door with a snap.

The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise.

"Kreacher did not see young master," he said, turning around and bowing to Fred. Still lacing the carpet, he added, perfectly audibly, "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is."

"Sorry?" said George. "Didn't catch that last bit."

"Kreacher said nothing," said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, "and there its twin, unnatural little beasts they are."

I laughed. "Hi, Kreacher."

I was the only person beside Hermione who didn't mind Kreacher. Actually, I found him quite amusing. He liked me, too, because I was a Black and because I was nice to him. Hermione was right about him, with a little love, he's loyal to a fault.

He bowed to me also. "Always a pleasure to see you, Miss Black."

I grinned at him. "You too." He then saw Hermione and narrowed his eyes.

". . . and there's the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass, oh if my mistress knew, oh, how she'd cry, and there's a new boy, Kreacher doesn't know his name. What is he doing here? Kreacher doesn't know . . ."

"This is Harry, Kreacher," said Hermione tentatively. "Harry Potter."

Kreacher's pale eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever.

"The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though she is my friend, if Kreacher's mistress saw him in such company, oh, what would she say - "

"Don't call her a Mudblood!" said Ron and Ginny together, very angrily.

'"It doesn't matter," Hermione whispered, "he's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what he's - "

"Don't kid yourself, Hermione, he knows exactly what he's saying," said Fred, eyeing Kreacher with great dislike.

Kreacher was still muttering, his eyes on Potter.

"Is it true? Is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that's the boy who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher wonders how he did it - "

"Don't we all, Kreacher," said Fred.

"What do you want, anyway?" George asked.

Kreacher's huge eyes darted towards George.

"Kreacher is cleaning," he said evasively.

"A likely story," said a voice behind me.

Sirius had come back; he was glowering at the elf from the doorway. The noise in the hall had abated; perhaps Mrs. Weasley and Mundungus had moved their argument down into the kitchen.

At the sight of Sirius, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snoutlike nose on the floor.

"Stand up straight," said Sirius impatiently. "Now, what are you up to?"

"Kreacher is cleaning," the elf repeated. "Kreacher lives to serve lie Noble House of Black - "

"And it's getting blacker every day, it's filthy," said Sirius.

"Master always liked his little joke," said Kreacher, bowing again, and continuing in an undertone, "Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother's heart - "

"My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher," snapped Sirius. "She kept herself alive out of pure spite."

Kreacher bowed again as he spoke.

"Whatever Master says," he muttered furiously. "Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother's boots, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him, how she hated him, what a disappointment he was - "

"I asked you what you were up to," said Sirius coldly. "Every time you show up pretending to be cleaning, you sneak something off to your room so we can't throw it out."

"Kreacher would never move anything from its proper place in Master's house," said the elf, then muttered very fast, "Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out, seven centuries it's been in the family, Kreacher must save it, Kreacher will not let Master and the blood traitors and the brats destroy it - "

"I thought it might be that," said Sirius, casting a disdainful look at the opposite wall. "She'll have put another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of it, I don't doubt, but if I can get rid of it I certainly will. Now go away, Kreacher."

It seemed that Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him was full of deepest loathing and he muttered all the way out of the room.

" - comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out, she swore he was no son of hers and he's back, they say he's a murderer too - "

"Keep muttering and I will be a murderer!" said Sirius irritably as he slammed the door shut on the elf.

"Sirius, he's not right in the head," Hermione pleaded, "I don't think he realises we can hear him."

"He's been alone too long," said Sirius, "taking mad orders from my mothers portrait and talking to himself, but he was always a foul little - "

"If you could just set him free," said Hermione hopefully, "maybe - "

"Hermione, we can't set him free. He knows too much about the Order," I said from behind her. She started, just like everyone else when I talked. Seriously, I'm not that scary. "And anyway, the shock would kill him. You suggest to him that he leaves this house, see how he takes it."

Sirius made a sound of agreement, then walked across the room to where the tapestry Kreacher had been trying to protect hung the length of the wall. Harry followed. I was close behind, but unseen by him.

The tapestry looked immensely old; it was laded and looked as though Doxies had gnawed it in places. Nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree dating back (as far as I could tell) to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read:

_The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_

_Toujours pur_

"You're not on here!" said Harry, after scanning the bottom of the tree closely.

"I used to be there," said Sirius, pointing at a small, round, charred hole in the tapestry, rather like a cigarette burn. "My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home - Kreacher's quite fond of muttering the story under his breath."

"You ran away from home?"

"When I was about sixteen," said Sirius. "I'd had enough."

"But where did you go?"

"Your dad's place," said Sirius. "Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son. Yeah, I camped out at your dads in the school holidays, and when I was seventeen I got a place of my own. My Uncle Alphard had left me a decent bit of gold - he's been wiped off here, too, that's probably why - he's Terentia's father, by the way - anyway, after that I looked after myself. I was always welcome at Mr and Mrs Potters for Sunday lunch, though."

"But . . . why did you . . .?"

"Leave?" Sirius smiled bitterly and ran his fingers through his long, unkempt hair. "Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal . . . my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them . . . that's him."

Sirius jabbed a finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name _Regulus Black_. A date of death (some fifteen years previously) followed the date of birth.

"He was younger than me," said Sirius, "and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded."

"But he died," said Harry.

"Yeah," said Sirius. "Stupid idiot . . . he joined the Death Eaters."

"You're kidding!"

"Come on, Harry, haven't you seen enough of this house to tell what kind of wizards my family were?" said Sirius testily.

"Were - were your parents Death Eaters as well?"

"No, no, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having pure-bloods in charge. They weren't alone, either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colours, who thought he had the right idea about things . . . they got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get power, though. But I bet my parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up at first."

"Was he killed by an Auror?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Oh, no," said Sirius. "No, he was murdered by Voldemort. Or on Voldemort's orders, more likely; I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person. From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he: was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don't just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service or death."

"Lunch," said Mrs Weasley's voice.

She was holding her wand high in front of her, balancing a huge tray loaded with sandwiches and cake on its tip. She was very red in the face and still looked angry. The others moved over to her, eager for some food, but Harry remained with Sirius, who had bent closer to the tapestry. I stayed, too.

"I haven't looked at this for years. There's Phineas Nigellus; . . . my great-great-grandfather, see? . . . least popular Headmaster Hogwarts ever had . . . and Araminta Meliflua . . . cousin of my mother's . . . tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal . . . and dear Aunt Elladora . . . she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got too old to carry tea trays . . . of course, any time the family produced someone halfway decent they were disowned. I see Tonks isn't on here. Maybe that's why Kreacher won't take orders from her - he's supposed to do whatever anyone in the family asks him - "

"You and Tonks are related?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Oh, yeah, her mother Andromeda was my favourite cousin," said Sirius, examining the tapestry closely. "No, Andromeda's not on here either, look - "

He pointed to another small round burn mark between two names, Bellatrix and Narcissa.

"Andromeda's sisters are still here because they made lovely, respectable pure-blood marriages, but Andromeda married a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks, so - "

Sirius mimed blasting the tapestry with a wand and laughed sourly. Harry, however, did not laugh; he was too busy staring at the names to the right of Andromeda's burn mark. A double line of gold embroidery linked Narcissa Black with Lucius Malfoy and a single vertical gold line from their names led to the name Draco.

"You're related to the Malfoy's!"

The pure-blood families are all interrelated," said Sirius. "If you're only going to let your sons and daughters marry pure-bloods our choice is very limited; there are hardly any of us left. Molly and I are cousins by marriage and Arthur's something like my second cousin once removed. But there's no point looking for then on here - if ever a family was a bunch of blood traitors it's the Weaseys."

But Harry was now looking at the name to the left of Andromeda's burn: Bellatrix Black, which was connected by a double line to Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Lestrange . . ." Harry said aloud. The name had stirred something in his memory; he knew it from somewhere, but for a moment he couldn't think where, though it gave him an odd, creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"They're in Azkaban," said Sirius shortly.

Harry looked at him curiously.

"Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus came in with Barty Crouch junior," said Sirius, in the same brusque voice. "Rodolphuss brother Rabastan was with them, too."

Then Harry remembered. He had seen Bellatrix Lestrange inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, the strange device in which thoughts and memories could be stored: a tall dark woman with heavy-lidded eyes, who had stood at her trial and proclaimed her continuing allegiance to Lord Voldemort, her pride that she had tried to find him after his downfall and her conviction that she would one day be rewarded for her loyalty.

"You never said she was your - "

"Does it matter if she's my cousin?" snapped Sirius. "As far as I'm concerned, they're not my family. She's certainly not my family. I haven't seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming into Azkaban. D'you think I'm proud of having a relative like her?" Hey, hey, hey! That's not fair!

"Sorry," said Harry quickly, "I didn't mean - I was just surprised, that's all - "

"It doesn't matter, don't apologise," Sirius mumbled. He turned away from the tapestry, his hands deep in his pockets. "I don't like being back here," he said, staring across the drawing room. "I never thought I'd be stuck in this house again."

"It's ideal for Headquarters, of course," Sirius said. "My father put every security measure known to wizardkind on it when he lived here. It's unplottable, so Muggles could never come and call - as if they'd ever have wanted to - and now Dumbledore's added his protection, you'd be hard put to find a safer house anywhere. Dumbledore is Secret Keeper for the Order, you know - nobody can find Headquarters unless he tells them personally where it is - that note Moody showed you last night, that was from Dumbledore . . ." Sirius gave a short, bark-like laugh. "If my parents could see the use their house was being put to now . . . well, my mothers portrait should give you some idea."

He scowled for a moment, then sighed.

"I wouldn't mind if I could just get out occasionally and do something useful. I've asked Dumbledore whether I can escort you, to your hearing - as Snuffles, obviously - so I can give you a bit of moral support, what d'you think?"

It was obvious by the way Harry's face crumpled that he dreaded the hearing, despite what he told Ron and Hermione last night.

"Don't worry," I said. Harry started, looking up and realising that I had been watching them. "I'm sure they'll clear you, there's definitely something in the International Statute of Secrecy about being allowed to use magic to save your own life. And besides, I think I know who will help you at the hearing."

"Who?" he asked quickly. I just smiled. He sighed, probably realizing that I won't tell him anything. He turned his attention to Sirius.

"But if they do expel me," said Harry quietly, "can I come back here and live with you?"

Sirius smiled sadly.

"We'll see."

"I'd feel a lot better about the hearing if I knew I didn't have to go back to the Dursleys'," Harry pressed him.

"They must be bad if you prefer this place," said Sirius gloomily.

"Hurry up, you three, or there won't be any food left," Mrs Weasley called.

Sirius heaved another great sigh, cast a dark look at the tapestry, then he and Harry went to join the others.

I could tell Harry tried his best not to think about the hearing while he emptied the glass-fronted cabinets that afternoon. Fortunately for him, it was a job that required a lot of concentration, as many of the objects in there seemed very reluctant to leave their dusty shelves. Sirius sustained a bad bite from a silver snuffbox; within seconds his bitten hand had developed an unpleasant crusty covering like a tough brown glove.

"Its okay," he said, examining the hand with interest before tapping it lightly with his wand and restoring its skin to normal, "must be Wartcap powder in there."

He threw the box aside into the sack where they were depositing the debris from the cabinets; I saw George wrap his own hand carefully in a cloth moments later and sneak the box into his already Doxy-filled pocket.

They found an unpleasant-looking silver instrument, something like a many-legged pair of tweezers, which scuttled up Harry's arm like a spider when he picked it up, and attempted to puncture his skin. Sirius seized it and smashed it with a heavy book entitled _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy, until I had the sense to slam the lid shut; a heavy locket that none of them could open; a number of ancient seals; and, in a dusty box, an Order of Merlin, First Class, that had been awarded to Sirius's grandfather for 'services to the Ministry'.

"It means he gave them a load of gold," said Sirius contemptuously throwing the medal into the rubbish sack.

Several times Kreacher sidled into the room and attempted to smuggle things away under his loincloth, muttering horrible curses every time they caught him at it. When Sirius wrested a large go den ring bearing the Black crest from his grip, Kreacher actually burst into furious tears and left the room sobbing under his breath and calling Sirius names Harry had never heard before.

"It was my father's," said Sirius, throwing the ring into the sack. "Kreacher wasn't quite as devoted to him as to my mother, but I still caught him snogging a pair of my father's old trousers last week."

I secretly took the ring from the sack and went to Kreacher's room. When I gave it to him, he immediately went to his knees and started snovelling thank-you's.

Mrs Weasley kept them all working very hard over the next few days. The drawing room took three days to decontaminate. Finally, the only undesirable things left in it were the tapestry of the Black family tree, which resisted all their attempts to remove it from the wall, and the rattling writing desk. Moody had not dropped by Headquarters yet, so they could not be sure what was inside it.

They moved from the drawing room to a dining room on the ground floor where they found spiders as large as saucers lurking in the dresser (Ron left the room hastily to make a cup of tea and did not return for an hour and a half). The china, which bore the Black crest and motto, was all thrown unceremoniously into a sack by Sirius, and the same fate met a set of old photographs in tarnished silver frames, all of whose occupants squealed shrilly as the glass covering them smashed.

Snape might refer to their work as 'cleaning', but in my opinion they were really waging war on the house, which was putting up a very good fight, aided and abetted by Kreacher. The house-elf kept appearing wherever they were congregated, his muttering becoming more and more offensive as he attempted to remove anything he could from the rubbish sacks. Sirius went as far as to threaten him with clothes, but Kreacher fixed him with a watery stare and said, "Master must do as Master wishes," before turning away and muttering very loudly, "but Master will not turn Kreacher away, no, because Kreacher knows what they are up to, oh yes, he is plotting against the Dark Lord, yes, with these Mudblood and traitors and scum . . ."

At which Sirius, ignoring Hermione's protests, seized Kreacher by the back of his loincloth and threw him bodily from the room.

The doorbell rang several times a day, which was the cue for Sirius's mother to start shrieking again, and for the others to attempt to eavesdrop on the visitor, though they gleaned very little from the brief glimpses and snatches of conversation they were able to sneak before Mrs Weasley recalled them to their tasks. Snape flitted in and out of the house several times more, though to Harry's relief they never came face to face; Harry also caught sight of his Transfiguration teacher Professor McGonagall, looking very odd in a Muggle dress and coat, and she also seemed too busy to linger. Sometimes, however, the visitors stayed to help. Tonks joined them for a memorable afternoon in which they found a murderous old ghoul lurking in an upstairs toilet, and Lupin, who was staying in the house with Sirius but who left it for long periods to do mysterious work for the Order, helped them repair a grandfather clock that had developed the unpleasant habit of shooting heavy bolts at passers-by. Mundungus redeemed himself slightly in Mrs Weasley's eyes by rescuing Ron from an ancient set of purple robes that had tried to strangle him when he removed them from their wardrobe.

Despite the fact that I could plainly see that he was still sleeping badly, Harry was managing to have fun for the first time all summer. As long as he was busy he was happy; when the action abated, however, whenever he dropped his guard, or lay exhausted in bed watching blurred shadows move across the ceiling, the thought of the looming Ministry hearing returned to him. Fear jabbed at his insides like needles as he wondered what was going to happen to him if he was expelled. He never talked about the trial, not even to Ron and Hermione, who, though he often saw them whispering together and casting anxious looks in his direction, followed his lead in not mentioning it. Sometimes, he could not prevent his imagination showing him a faceless Ministry official who was snapping his wand in two and ordering him back to the Dursleys' . . . but he would not go. He was determined on that. He would come back here to Grimmauld Place and live with Sirius.

He looked as though a brick had dropped into his stomach when Mrs Weasley turned to him during dinner on Wednesday evening and said quietly, "I've ironed your best clothes for tomorrow morning, Harry, and I want you to wash your hair tonight, too. A good first impression can work wonders."

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George and Ginny all stopped talking and looked over at him. Harry nodded and tried to keep eating his chop, but his mouth had become so dry he could not chew.

"How am I getting there?" he asked Mrs. Weasley, obviously trying - and failing - to sound unconcerned.

"Arthur's taking you to work with him," said Mrs. Weasley gently.

Mr. Weasley smiled encouragingly at Harry across the table.

"You can wait in my office until it's time for the hearing," he said.

Harry looked over at Sirius, but before he could ask the question, Mrs. Weasley had answered it.

"Professor Dumbledore doesn't think it's a good idea for Sirius to go with you, and I must say I - "

" - think he's quite right," said Sirius through clenched teeth.

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips.

"When did Dumbledore tell you that?" Harry said, staring at Sirius.

"He came last night, when you were in bed," said Mr. Weasley.

Sirius stabbed moodily at a potato with his fork. Harry lowered his own eyes to his plate. Dinner was quite dark and gloomy from there.


End file.
